


Relax, have a drink with me

by Iwillgladlyjointhefight



Series: My eyes on you [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: But also not, M/M, White House AU, coffee shop AU, in any case it's a thomas jefferson roast-fest, it's a mess tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:17:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 58,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5843095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwillgladlyjointhefight/pseuds/Iwillgladlyjointhefight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.<br/>Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I haven't written anything, but Hamilton tends to make you want to write like you're running out of time !  
> I absolutely need to thank Elisa for helping out, having so many great ideas, and always being ready to hate on TJeffs.  
> I realize this is probably not how internships at the White House work. The interns probably dont even work there? But humor me. 
> 
> Lin, if you ever stumble upon this, I am sorry and let's grab a cup of coffee sometimes.

Alexander Hamilton was, for all purposes and intents, not a patient man.

That may have been why, that hot summer day, he was feeling a bit more absent-minded than usual. His mind was running through matters way more important than where his feet were getting him or, maybe, the people he was standing behind in the small coffee shop’s queue.

His interview for that White House internship had gone well. He had received a call, a few days ago : it was from a gentleman who had introduced himself as Hanson, and of course he knew who Hanson fucking was, he hadn’t graduated top of his PoliSci class for nothing and that Hanson guy was the one who assisted President George Washington in preparing his speeches, wasn’t it? Maybe he had said that out loud.

“ - Right. In any case, I’m bringing to you an offer that could interest you. Would an internship at the White House be possible for you?

\- Excuse me?

\- Would you be available next week for an interview?”

This one had come out of left field, leaving Alexander speechless for what had been the first time in what had probably been years. After working out the security details, he had finally walked into the White House at 2pm sharp, suited up, determination in his eyes (as if it ever left), and a charming smile on his lips. He knew he had what it took. He was not throwing this shot away; he was ready.

It had turned out that an internship at Communications was available; and his blog had such avid readers at the White House that his name had voluntarily been suggested. Hanson had even hinted that the man himself, President Washington, had actually read his essay on minimum wage and enjoyed it. His Twitter feuds, not so much. There had actually been talks about not tweeting while he was interning. A Twitter ban. How would he survive? What if someone was wrong and no one was there to correct them? He had to find a way around that, Alex thought. But if it meant actually working on the presidential speeches, getting his foot in the White House door, it was worth the extra work.

  
Yes, Alexander was feeling confident. But, as he had walked in the coffee shop, his mind was already somewhere else. In the Cabinet, probably. With his name on one of the doors. The barista leaned towards him from across the counter with a smile. “What can I get for you ?”

The man looked good, Alex thought. No, scratch that. The man looked great. Long black curls pinned in a low ponytail, bright eyes that seemed to be planning something your mother would rather not know about, and a smile Alex was pretty sure was worth a tip even if the coffee tasted like tar.

“- Medium white mocha please? Two extra shots of espresso?”

\- Sweet. Coming right up. What’s your name, man?

-Alexander.”

The barista smiled broadly as he quickly wrote on the cup and worked the register. Alex took his change and had barely the time to focus on the other man’s fingers lingering a fraction of a second more than was necessary before he was already ushered away on the side to wait for his drink while the impatient customers behind him ordered. Alex let his mind wander.

The White House staff had seemed nice. People were younger than he expected - of course, he knew they were all probably sharks who would bite his head off for a head’s up as soon as they got the chance. Some of them had been interning for a long time; he’d seen a pompous guy who Hanson had said had been there for almost a year, not even on the summer internship program anymore, but only because he was good at what he did and Alex really hoped the guy hadn’t heard that because he already walked as if he fucking owned the place.

Alexander didn’t walk as if he owned anything. He walked like a man who was about to own everything. He’d fought like a lion. He had graduated top of his class at Columbia, on a full scholarship, and he’d still worked his ass off to put money on the side so he could see to any unexpected hardships, something he’d learned to do the hard way. And now, with an unpaid internship, he was kind of glad he had. He had already been looking up potential roommates the past week. He was ready. Well. As ready as he could be.

 

A bump on his shoulder forced him out of his thoughts. A young man, slightly disheveled in a purple shirt, suit jacket in the crook of his elbow, rushed past him and grabbed the shoulder of the shorter guy who had been waiting in front of him, just as one of the baristas, a cute doe-eyed young girl, set a second drink next to the one that was already there. “...and thank you for waiting. White mocha for --

\- Thank you. Shit, James, I thought I’d never make it,” said Purple Shirt with an annoyed huff.

He grabbed the cup. Alex’s cup. And took a big gulp out of it. The world stopped turning. Alex stared. Doe-eyes stared. Hot name-taking barista (“Curls”, Alex had named him) stared. All in all, there was a lot of staring.

“- What the fuck, James? Since when do you get me coffee? You know I only drink tea in the afternoon?!”

Curls cleared his throat. “I am sorry sir, but this cup was for Mr Alexander here? My colleague just told your friend your drink was taking a bit longer than expected.”  
Purple Shirt turned to Alex. And he never forgot a face and who else could it be than the self-entitled, pompous prick that had walked the corridor of the House like he was on a runway ? Purple Shirt grinned. “Well, Mr Alexander --

\- Alexander Hamilton.

\- Right. Thomas Jefferson. I think I recognize you from earlier. Aren’t you applying for that internship at Communications? The girls were gossiping about it when you left.

\- That’s cute. That’s my coffee you are holding.”

Jefferson (Alex sure as hell was not going to call him Thomas. It would make him seem too human. And that grin was definitely more that of a devil than a normally constituted person.) scoffed. “Is that what it is? I thought I was drinking sugar and cholesterol in a styrofoam cup. Who even has coffee in scorching heat, at five pm?!”  
Alex felt the blood rush to his head. Who even was this guy. The shorter one - James, was it ? - leaned in. “Thomas, your tea is ready. I think we should get going. Those reports aren’t gonna summarize themselves.

\- Tea?!” Alex spat. “How is tea any better than coffee in summer?!”

Jefferson smiled smugly. “I’ll let you know that nomads in the Sahara desert drink hot tea to actually cool down. It’s a trick I learnt during my time in France, from very dear Moroccan friends.”

Alex smiled the fakest smile he could. “I’ll let you know that trick only works if you don’t have enough clothes that you can sweat it out easily, in a dry and hot environment. Absolutely not indicated when wearing a fucking suit on the East coast of the United States. I learnt that during my time in school, from actually studying.”

 

There was a silence. And a snort. Curls was trying to hold in his laughter. Alex felt hot all over. The sight of the barista biting his lip to try and stifle his amusement combined with the rush of anger Jefferson had made him feel was elating to say the least.

Jefferson dropped the cup, which spilled on the floor and a little on his well-polished shoes. He bent forward towards Alex who tried to stand at his tallest and snarled “welcome to the White House, Mr Hamilton. I look forward to working with you.” He brushed past Alex and James followed him with a last hateful glance.

If Alex had had any doubts, he now knew that his interview had been successful. He was going to work at the White House. He had a foot in. He had to find a way around the Twitter ban. He wondered if Jefferson had a Twitter and if he could find dirt on him on it.

 

“Holy shit,” Alex heard. It was Curls, handing him a steaming cup. “That was an ass-kicking if I ever saw one. This one is on the house. I’m John Laurens if you ever want to quote me in your victory speech.” He smiled and the sun was shining through the windows, but it had nothing to do with the warmth Alex suddenly felt.

Alex smiled at John as he took the cup and let, this time, his own fingers linger on the other man’s, as if exchanging the tactile equivalent of a wink. No, Alexander was not a patient man, but at this moment, he felt in no rush to get back to his dreams of glory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! Thank you all for the feedback! I still have a bit of trouble getting used to the Ao3 format, I hope that's okay.  
> Thank you still to the wonderful Elisa for her ideas and beta reading. 
> 
> Lin, seriously. Let's grab that cup of coffee. I will fly over the Atlantic.

In the days to come, Alexander would learn that the coffee shop would be his salvation.

The Monday following the interview and showdown with the purple-wearing idiot, Alex had arrived at 8am sharp at the White House, retrieved his brand new badge, and met Hanson next to his office. All the corridors looked alike. He was going to have a hard time navigating the place. Maybe it hadn’t helped that he had only been listening half-mindedly when shown up the way to his own office.

"You’ll be sharing your office with several others, Alexander", said Hanson with an encouraging smile in his voice.

Alexander looked up. And if, at that moment, someone had been able to read minds, they would have learnt a few choice curse words, both in English, Spanish, and French. Because, of course, who else was he going to share an office with than Thomas Fucking Jefferson.

"You are not on the same team", continued Hanson. "Thomas is interning at Cabinet Affairs. But their office is closed up for renovations, something about Aaron Burr setting the coffee maker on fire, and long story short if the boiler starts smelling funny to you please just call maintenance. This is your desk, feel free to make it home. We are really happy to have you with us, Alexander."

Alex thanked him and tried to smile politely. Meanwhile, Jefferson kept staring in horror. He was not wearing that hideous shirt anymore, but a suit that probably cost more than Alex’s entire wardrobe; he hated how inadequate he suddenly felt. He strode to his desk and fished his worn-out laptop out of his bag, as well as a few notebooks and pens; he heard a knock at the door, which was still wide open.

A woman was standing there. She stood tall; her hair was pinned back in a high ponytail and her eyes said that she would take no bullshit from anyone, not today, not ever. Jefferson’s face split into a winning smile.

“Angelica”, he said in what was probably supposed to be a flirtatious tone.

“Pull your damn pants up, Thomas, I am not here for you”, sighed Angelica. “I am actually here to see Alexander Hamilton. Hi”, she flashed him a warm smile. He felt reassured; apparently she wasn’t here to bite his head off. “My name is Angelica Schuyler, I work at Communications as well? I come bearing gifts.”

She sat on the edge of his desk. He liked how natural and at ease she made him feel already.

“Hi, Angelica”, he said, extending his hand, which she shook with a smile. Jefferson had stopped staring by now and was dejectedly tapping noisily at the keyboard of his laptop.

“I am happy to meet you and look forward to working with you”, he added politely, before starting, “actually, shouldn’t all people who work in the same section work in the same space? That would be much more beneficial as far as productivity and office relationship go; not to say I would rather not work with Mr Jefferson here, which is absolutely what I mean, but…”

Angelica was staring. “Alexander”, she cut him off, “once Thomas’ usual office is functional, you will be freed from his presence and we will be able to move things around a bit; but for now you’ll just have to make do.

Just pretend I’m not there, sneered Jefferson.

Thanks, we will”, said Angelica.

Alex liked her already.

 

Turned out the gifts she had brought were not, in fact, gifts. She had a small stack of papers from IT, explaining how to get on the Internet and the White House intranet; and a huge file that contained some, but not all, of the information Alex might need to start his work. Calendars of upcoming events, lists of contacts in the media, all the speeches President Washington had previously delivered… there were a lot. She had also helped him set up his office, helped him make sure his desk looked conveniently cluttered, shown him how to connect his computer to the wireless printer - which was in Jefferson’s corner of the room. Alex decided to never use it ever.

He grabbed lunch with Angelica. She was witty and smart, and they hit it off right away. He learnt she had studied at Princeton University; her dad actually was a Senator. She was working twice as hard to prove this had nothing to do with her worth and that she was her own woman; Alex respected that. He told her about the scholarship, about university; he left his own upbringing behind. It didn’t matter. What mattered was what was about to come.

When he got back to his office, Jefferson was deeply engrossed in a conversation with - James, was it? the guy with whom he had been at the coffee shop ? - yes, James, over his own bowl of quinoa. Alex had never tasted quinoa, but it sounded pretentious. He promptly resolved that he hated quinoa. As he entered the room, the two men stopped and shared a huffed laugh. But Alex got the last laugh when food actually dropped out of Jefferson’s mouth onto his lap.

 

As he gathered his stuff at the end of the day, Alexander quickly reviewed his day. It had actually been pretty good. The job seemed fast-paced and interesting; he had already met a few colleagues he could see himself get along with. Of course, he shared an office with a smug douchebag, but that kind of stuff happened and he had learnt at school that having a nemesis actually made you want to be better (poor Samuel Seabury was probably still crying in his mother’s skirts).

The best way, he decided, to end this day on a good note, was to end it on a sweet note. He walked to the small coffee shop he had been to the week before, and, peeking inside, was happy to spot Curls (“John Laurens”, he corrected himself mentally). The shop was almost empty. He walked in.

“Hello !” John greeted him with a huge smile on his face. “Alexander, was it?”

Alex was surprised that John remembered his name. And pleased. He flashed him a huge grin.

"Good afternoon, John. Slow day?"

"Man, more like slow minutes. Rush hour just ended. What can I get for you?"

"White mocha, two shots of espresso. A bit of cinnamon on top?"

“Coming right up”, said John.

Alex watched him as he cashed in the money and set to work to prepare his drink.

“I am sorry that there is hardly anyone in here for you to fight today, Alex”, said the barista with a teasing tone. Alexander was surprised, that the man was making conversation for a start, which was unexpected but absolutely welcome, but above all at the use of a nickname right away. He liked how it sounded in John's voice.

"I am sure I could find a reason to fight, John, said Alex as he leaned on the counter towards him. Do you remember the asshole who drank my cup last week? (John nodded with a grimace.) Well, I just got this job, and he is working in the same office as me. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to take it, John, what if he wears that hideous shirt again and I have to poke my eyes out? I will have to wander blindly in this city I know barely anyone in. I won’t be able to see if you write my name on that cup or if you write directions to murder me and dispose of my body.”

John was scribbling on the white cup with a smirk and set it in front of Alex. He took it in his hand and reveled in the warmth. Talking to John felt good. They had literally met twice. But then again, he’d never had many friends and knew he had a tendency to talk too much, which could get annoying, he supposed. A scrawl under the neat cursive letters that formed his name caught his eyes. He lifted surprised eyes at John, who was blushing but still smiling.

“Figured I’d give you my number before you bleach your eyes out, so you have someone to call that will help kick the guy’s ass to the moon before you hurt yourself.”

Offering to second in a fight? John might as well have proposed. Alex gaped at him for a fraction of a second, before taking a hold of the sharpie John had left on the side and scribbling his own number on a napkin. John grabbed it and stared as Alex said “I tend to text. A lot. This is my number so you know it’s me and don’t call 911.” He sipped his coffee. He could feel his head becoming lighter. He nodded at John and all but bolted out of the coffee shop. He already knew he had it bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it ! I can, as always since I don't have a life, be found @iwillgladlyjointhefight on Tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all ! I am so happy you seem to be enjoying this so far.  
> Thanks to Elisa, my beautiful beta reader. This chapter contains French, translation will be at the end. Being French myself, I dare hope my translation is accurate.  
> This chapter features drinking. Don't drink and drive, kids. That's mother Pauline talking. 
> 
> Lin, I booked my plane ticket. I take my coffee with a shot of cinnamon syrup. See you there.

To : Curls

John I don’t know how much longer I can take it

 

To: Curls

John TJ has been playing French ballads on his computer for three hours

 

To : Curls

John I may need surgery to get my ears removed. How will I hear my name when you hand me my coffee? What if the President calls my name and I am too busy getting serenaded by Edith Piaf. This is detrimental to my carrier.

 

From: Curls

Aren’t you supposed to be working Alex? Also can’t you write a single message like a normal person, my phone keeps buzzing and if I take any more bathroom breaks this is going to start looking suspicious.

* * *

 

To : Hunkules Mulligan

Is there any more beer at the flat? I will need a drink tonight this is a TJ emergency

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

You’re lucky to have me as a roommate. It’s been three weeks Alexander I am surprised TJ still has all his teeth. You are buying pizza

* * *

 

Alex put his phone down on his desk. He really had lucked out on that roommate situation. Living with Hercules was easy. He could effortlessly follow Alex’s erratic train of thoughts and was one of the few people he knew who had no problem smacking him over the head to force him to shut up when he got a bit carried away, which, let’s be honest, was usually justified. Alex already called him a friend.

As for John… They had been texting non stop. Alex had never connected with someone so easily. John was smart, witty, and funny; the only thing that the text messages didn’t convey was John’s laughter or the way his eyes twinkled when Alexander started listing all the ways he thought the White House could be changed to run more efficiently.

Thankfully, Alex had become a regular patron of the small coffee shop. Sure, it meant cutting back on a few luxuries, like lunch, that he had no qualms skipping; but Angelica had taken notice and usually insisted on treating him to at least a sandwich, or alternatively, he often found granola bars or fruit pouches in his bag when he got to work. Hercules was the only person who would buy those, so he had a pretty clear idea of where they came from. When confronted, Hercules usually just pumped up the volume on his earphones and sang loudly as he was threading a needle on a fancy dress that he had been commisioned about.

 

Edith Piaf’s wailing had been replaced by the Jacques Brel’s anguished whines.

“Thomas, if you are nursing a broken heart, may I suggest going home”, snapped Alex.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand or appreciate fine music, Alexander”, sneered Jefferson.

“Mais va te faire foutre”, muttered Alex. His phone buzzed. He reached for it.

* * *

 

From : Curls

Have you finally snapped? Do you need help digging a grave in the White House garden because I am so down for that

* * *

 

This was the best text Alexander had ever received. He wanted to print it and hang it above his desk.

* * *

 

To : Curls

Trying to look for a blunt object to bash my own skull in with. Please tell Hercules he can’t have my bed

 

From : Curls

Will do. He can sell it back as brand new anyway

* * *

 

Of course, Alex had brought Hercules to the coffee shop on one of his off days. They had hit it off right away. John had been delighted in all the little stories Hercules already had to tell, like how Alex could be heard pacing and talking to himself until the wee hours of morning, or how a Twitter debate had almost ended up in a real-life brawl after Alex had tweeted a time and place where he would be available to physically _persuade_ any opponents.

John had laughed. Alex loved when he laughed. It just illuminated everything and everyone around him. He could feel warm and a _yearning_ he didn’t usually experience; sure, Alex had been intimate with people. More than his lot. He liked sex, he liked the feeling of wanting and being wanted, but he didn’t usually want them to stay afterwards. With John? He wouldn’t mind staying in bed for lazy mornings where the sun would shine on them even on a cloudy day. He would wake up and smell bacon and coffee and he wouldn’t feel like bolting out of the flat. He would fall asleep on his lap as John ran his hand through his hair while a stupid show played on TV.

* * *

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

John just told me you wanted to die. I bought whiskey as well. John is coming over so I hope you are wearing your nicest shirt

 

To : Hunkules Mulligan

I don’t see what you mean please let me save the Free World in peace

 

To : Hunkules Mulligan

Are you saying some of my shirts aren’t nice

 

To: Hunkules Mulligan

At least they are not fucking purple

* * *

 

From : Curls

I get off work at 7.30. Meet me there?

* * *

 

Alex took a look at his battered watch. 6.45. Huh. He rapidly fired a text to John telling him he was on his way and leant down to write a few more words on his report (he had used up so many sheets in his three weeks there. There was no way he was approaching that damn printer. Everytime he got up to grab a file next to Jefferson he caught a whiff of his smelly cologne. That was a no if Alexander ever knew one.) but found out he had ran out of ink in his pen; tightening his lips, he threw it in the trash can. He heard a tapping and looked up. Jefferson was pointing at a jar on the far edge of his desk. Alexander flipped.

“I SWEAR TO GOD, JEFFERSON, YOU CAN’T FORCE ME TO PUT A DOLLAR IN THE SUPPLY JAR EVERYTIME I USE UP A PEN.”

 

 

“And then I smashed the jar on the floor. I hope he walks on a glass shard. He was still staring at me when I left. I am sure he sleeps at the office”, complained Alex, hot cup in hand, as John was closing up the shop.

“Maybe he doesn’t sleep, just like you. Maybe you are the same. That’s probably why you can’t help arguing, you’d kick your own ass if you were flexible enough”, said John, putting on his coat.

They walked out. Alex stared in horror. “You wound me, Laurens. I can’t believe this is a joke to you. Here I am, reaching out to you, on the verge of committing an unspeakable crime, and --”

John’s laughter, to Alex’s delight, could probably be heard from the White House itself.

 

“Welcome to _la casa de Hercules y Alex_ ”, said Hercules as he opened the door to their tiny flat.

“I think you are being a bit liberal with the term “ _casa_ ””, quipped John, looking around. There wasn’t much space to get lost in, to be honest. But the appartment was cosy and inviting and warm, and that was what had convinced Alexander; the rent was pretty cheap too, especially as the flat belonged to one of Hercules’ distant relatives (“old money”, as Hercules often said with a derisive smirk. He wasn’t in the best of terms with his family. Working in fashion designing was not the path they had set out for him.)

“It’s not much but it’s home”, said Alex as he shook off his coat, letting it fall dramatically on the floor of the corridor, and walked to the kitchen.

“I can’t believe you are quoting Harry Potter on me”, smirked John as he grabbed the bottle of beer that was handed to him and perched himself on the countertop.Alex liked how natural this felt, like John was already part of his life, how easily he fit in. They clinked their bottles together.

“To the shards of glass in Jefferson’s stupid leather shoes,” toasted John. Alex’s heart jumped.

 

Two hours later, their speech was slightly (a lot) more slurred as they sprawled on the couch, Hercules’ chunks of fabric carefully set aside, an open box of pizza on the floor. They had settled for a rerun of Say Yes to the Dress, that Hercules was intently watching; as for Alexander and John, they were deeply engrossed in a long political discussion. Alex was more verbose than usual, as alcohol tended to do to him; but John? No, John looked like a kitten, decided Alex. The way he blinked slowly and lazily smiled while holding his bent legs to his chest, facing him? It was cliché, honestly. But it felt right.

“Thank you for inviting me”, interrupted John. He was looking in his eyes a bit too directly, thought Alexander. He could feel his blood pumping and rushing to all kind of inappropriate places.

“I don’t have many friends”, he simply said. “I am happy to keep the ones I have close.” Actually he wouldn’t mind keeping this one even closer.

John sighed. “I have to work at 11 tomorrow. I guess I better head home if I want to get some sleep.”

Hercules’ eyes didn’t leave the television but he intervened. “You are not leaving that flat piss-drunk. I am not even sure you can find your way home. There is a couch here with your name on it. Actually, there is also a bed with mine written all over it.” He got up, shot a winning smile at Alex, and left for his room.

Alex internally cursed at him. He knew he had the shittiest poker face in the state. He knew that Hercules had seen him smile at his phone everytime it had buzzed with a text from John. He knew that he knew. But there was no way Alex was going to make a pass at John when they were both drunk, especially as he knew nothing of John’s sexual orientation. He quickly got up.

“I guess that’s the signal for bedtime, then,” he blabbered as he set to work getting a pillow and the fluffiest blanket he could for John. By the time he returned from his room, John had already peacefully fallen asleep. He threw the blanket over his body. It was cold outside and there tended to be a draft. He stared at the quietly breathing form of John Laurens before heading to bed. That was an image he wanted to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Va te faire foutre: fuck off. That's a great one. Don't use it in your French class.  
> I don't think it needs translating, but la casa de Herc y Alex is Alex and Herc's house. (You never know)
> 
> Find me @ iwillgladlyjointhefight on tumblr. I'm lonely and pining over Anthony Ramos.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello ! Thank you all for your feedback, comments, kudos, messages on Tumblr ! It really means the world to me!  
> Thank you to Elisa, my wonderful beta reader. Half the ideas here are yours, let's be real.
> 
> Lin, I am sorry. George Washington, if you're watching from the other side, I am so, so sorry (especially for calling you Washingdad).
> 
> New character in this one ! You know and love him, he's unafraid to step in. EVERYONE GIVE IT UP FOR AMERICA'S FAVORITE FIGHTING FRENCHMAN

Alexander was used to not sleeping. Mostly, he thought that something that unproductive, that could be replaced efficiently by coffee, which had the added bonus of making him feel like a bomb about to explode, had very little to no value. But that night? He wasn’t working on a new blog post about the lack of diversity in Congress, or on the next presidential weekly adress; no, that night, his brain was merely a room away, focused on the sleeping form of one John Laurens, who had smiled as Hercules had left them alone, and had unconsciously grabbed the blanket Alex had gently covered his body with. How would it have felt to sneak under the covers next to him? He should have done the polite thing and offered him his bed. Would he have been able to sleep in the bed and smell John after that? Was that really a question he wanted to know the answer for? Actually, what did John smell like in the morning? When Alex saw him, it was every time at work, where he smelled of fresh coffee, and whatever syrup he had managed to spill on his hand (more often than not).

You’re creepy, Alex scolded himself. It’s not because John Laurens is a walking, talking fantasy that you can start imagining laid out in your bed - actually isn’t it the point of a fantasy? Alex, buddy, it’s not time to imagine how perfect it would be to run your hands through John’s curls as you lightly kiss that perfect spot where his jawline meets his neck and you can feel his pulse race, then his collarbone, then - hold on right there. This was highly unconvenient, he thought as he glanced down at what appeared to be a very inappropriate boner. 

And if Hercules got woken up by someone taking what was a slightly too long shower at 2am, well, he wouldn’t tell anyone. 

 

Alex must have passed out somewhere around 4am, because by the time he’d gotten out of the bathroom and blinked, the sun had already started risen between white dusty clouds. He checked his phone; sure enough, it was 7.30. He quickly dressed up, trying not to look at the discarded towel on his bed (what use was there reliving the events that had unfolded in the shower? at least it had tired him out, apparently.) He let his hand linger on the doorknob. How was he going to look him in the eye without remembering how he had thrust into his fist last night thinking it was John’s? This was guaranteed to be awkward. He opened the door...

...and was greeted by silence. The blanket was messily folded over the couch’s back, John was nowhere in sight, and Hercules’ door was still closed - the benefits of working at home. Alex walked to the coffee maker. A note was sitting next to it, with a pen that wasn’t his.

_ “Alex, _

_ Thank you for inviting me. I had a great time. The coffee maker is set up. I hope to see more of you soon ! _

_ John _

_ PS: please find next to this note my contribution to the office supply war.” _

Alex incredulously spun the pen between his nimble fingers and let out a loud laugh. Hercules banged his fist on the wall. Alex didn’t care.

  
  


The day had been pretty uneventful so far. Jefferson had been out of the office a lot, on some meeting or other; Angelica spent some time in Alex’s office, now that there wasn’t the threat of the French-loving self-centered prick. She was entertaining Alex by telling him about all of the little quirks President George Washington exhibited and how they had to be careful about not forgetting about them when writing a speech or approving of an interview: how he would call anyone “son” unless corrected, which, as patronizing as it may seem, really was not; how there was no physical contact, not even a pat to the back, to be tolerated; how his years in the military had affected him, how his lack of a family life was to be avoided. Still, he was a great man, but there was much to be done in terms of presentation. Alexander still hadn’t met him, as he was currently on a presidential trip to Europe, and, let’s be real, the President was bound to be a bit busy from time to time, right?

 

 

They heard footsteps coming closer, and voices not-so-quietly chatting. One was Jefferson’s irritating tone, the other Alex didn’t recognize.

“Mais j’avoue que Paris en ce moment - attends une minute, j’ai un dossier à récupérer”, said Jefferson. Of course he was speaking French. He threw a disdainful glance at Alex as he bent over his own desk to rummage through a drawer. 

The other man leant casually against the doorframe. He was tall - of course to Alex everyone looked tall. His curly hair was pulled into a ponytail and his dark-skinned face looked like he was straight out of a magazine. He looked around the room, spotted Angelica and Alexander and instantly walked to them in a couple of long strides.

“Thomas”, he said with a thick French accent, “I didn’t take you for a rude person. I know you model yourself after the French, but we are not as impolite as everyone makes us to be”, he added with a wink in Alexander’s direction. He grabbed Angelica’s hand and kissed her knuckles: you could tell she was struggling to keep her composure and not blush. “I am the Marquis de Lafayette, but please just call me Lafayette, my name is a mouthful and this one I will spare you”, he said as he kissed Alex soundly on both cheeks.

Alex looked at him with wide eyes. “Lafayette? as in -

“- French ambassador to the US”, interrupted Jefferson. “We have a meeting with President Washington in ten. Marquis, this lovely lady is Angelica Schuyler, and that one there is Alexander Hamilton. I urge you not to remember his name, he is interning.”

Lafayette smiled. “Weren’t you interning as well the last time we met, Thomas? And  _ mon dieu _ , please call me Lafayette,  _ oui _ ? Titles are for books, not people.”

Alexander flashed a huge grin at Lafayette. The man looked like he could tear Jefferson’s head off while still pleasantly chatting about wine. 

“Thomas’ behavior aside, how about a cup of coffee later, Mr Hamilton, Miss Schuyler? I haven’t been in town for so long. Some pleasant company would absolutely be welcomed. Our meeting with George should not take more than an hour”, Lafayette casually asked with a warm glint in his eyes. Thomas scoffed.

“I know just the place”, said Alexander, clutching at John’s pen.

  
  


 

John’s “Alex!” greeted them as they entered the coffee shop. He felt a rush of warm affection for the other man. He walked to the counter, Angelica and Lafayette in tow. 

“John, this is Angelica, I told you about her, and this is Lafayette. Angelica, Lafayette, this is my friend John”, said Alexander, not one for lengthy introductions. Ever since they had entered the shop, Lafayette had been watching John with a knowing smile.

“A friend of Alexander’s ! _ Bien sûr _ !” Lafayette all but threw himself over the counter to firmly shake John’s hand. 

A slightly surprised John took their orders and they sat down to wait for him to prepare them. Lafayette comfortably burrowed into an armchair, unknotted his tie, and turned to Alex. “How long have John and you been dating, Alexander?”

Alex choked on his own tongue. “We are not? What on earth would make you say that?”

Lafayette shrugged. “Ah, I saw the way you were, how you say, devouring each other with your eyes? He didn’t even ask for your order. What are you waiting for?”

Angelica seemed to be having a great time studying the different shades of red Alexander’s skin could go through. Fortunately, it was the moment the barista Alex had seen on the day of the interview (“Doe-Eyes”? He’d seen her a few times) chose to bring them their drinks. “Thanks, Peggy,” said Angelica absent-mindedly.

“Peggy?!” Alex repeated.

“Peggy ? As in my sister Margarita? Frankly, Alex, it’s like you only listen to yourself sometimes. I told you my sister had a part time job in a coffee shop in town”, scolded Angelica.

“Maybe he’d have put two and two together if he’d stopped making googly eyes at John and tried to talk to me”, quipped Peggy, much to Lafayette’s delight. 

“I am never wrong about this kind of thing”, gushed the Frenchman. “I could feel it. Why are you not asking him out, Alexander? Is he not your type?

Alex went beet red. “I don’t see how John Laurens could not be anyone’s type. I just don’t know if I am his, you know what I mean? I know that depending on the time of day, the French go either way, but that’s not how it goes here. Anyway, shouldn’t you be talking about trade agreements or treaty alliances?”

“Touchy”, muttered Lafayette. “All those boring matters are for work. As much as I love it, we all have to take a break from time to time,  _ non _ ? I am not going to stay holed up with Thomas Jefferson of all people. He tries very hard. If I wanted to talk about how great France is, I’d have stayed there. My heart is otherwise taken.”

His phone buzzed and he jumped to his feet. “Ah ! Please allow me. George is calling”. He walked away.

“George. Does he mean the President?” gasped Angelica.

Alexander shrugged. 

* * *

 

Later that night:

 

From : Curls

What the heck was that at the coffee shop

 

To : Curls

I am guessing it was France

 

To : Curls

The man is a pretty powerful ally against TJ though

 

To : Curls

He gave me his number in case I needed diplomatic immunity

 

From : Curls

He gave you his number? I guess the French work fast

To : Curls

What do you mean

 

To: Curls

John the French are literally the laziest people on Earth

 

To : Curls 

Did you mean he was hitting on me?! John he calls the President by his first name

 

From : Curls

So?

 

To : Curls 

I checked POTUS’ agenda. He has nothing planned tonight

 

To : Curls 

Yet Lafayette said he was going to dinner with him

 

From : Curls

NSA is going to kill you

* * *

 

To : Baguette Kisser

Are you on a date with POTUS

 

From : Baguette Kisser

I can literally send half a dozen master assassins to your place right now with only one call

* * *

 

To : Curls

How does fleeing to Nicaragua sound to you

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mais j’avoue que Paris en ce moment - attends une minute, j’ai un dossier à récupérer : But I gotta say Paris at this time of year - hold on, I have to get a file first (imagine it said in a snobbish accent)
> 
> I am available on tumblr @iwillgladlyjointhefight. I don't have much going on. I will talk Washette and Daveed Diggs with you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello ! Thank you all for sticking with me ! I absolutely love your comments and kudos. They make me want to hug you. Actually, consider yourselves hugged.  
> Elisa, what would I do without you and your beta reading? Honestly. 
> 
> I am really happy with what you all thought of Laf (well what the ones who commented had to say).   
> We meet the President in this one. I hope you are wearing a nice suit.

To : Curls

John TJ is swivelling in his stupid swivel chair again

 

To : Curls

It squeaks

 

To : Curls

I suggested oiling it up so it stops squeaking and that it would also make it easier for me to shove it up his ass

 

To : Curls

He said he was gonna report to POTUS seriously what is he five

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Did you seriously threaten Thomas of putting a whole chair up his ass

 

To : Baguette Kisser

How the fuck do you know that

* * *

 

From :  potus@whitehouse.gov

Mr Hamilton,

Please come to my office immediately.

* * *

 

To : Curls

It’s been grand, John. I want you to have my West Wing DVD set. I hope you’ll miss me

* * *

 

Alex switched off his phone and walked to his doom.

 

 

The Oval Office looked smaller than it did on TV. But that may have been due to the presence of President George Washington. And holy cow, was the man tall. His stature commanded respect and exhibited a kind of calm Alex envied. He’d never felt calm a day in his life. And especially not at that exact moment.

He took a look around. President Washington was standing behind his desk, his back to one of the huge windows overlooking the White House garden. Jefferson was smugly sitting in a chair in front of the desk. Alex raised an eyebrow at Lafayette, who was all but lounging on one of the couches in the middle of the room. The Frenchman shrugged with a huge smile and a wink.

“Mr Hamilton”, greeted Washington. “I wish I had made your acquaintance sooner, and in other circumstances.”

“Mr President, sir, I don’t know what you heard, but whatever it is, Jefferson started it”, boldly claimed Alex.

Jefferson jumped off his chair. “Sir, it’s already hard having to share an office with someone as inexperienced as Hamilton, but direct threats to my integrity can not be permitted and -”

“Thomas, please sit down”, sighed Washington. “Alexander, I suggest you do the same.”

Alex sat down next to Jefferson, his blood boiling.

“This is not kindergarten, gentlemen”, continued Washington. Alex heard Lafayette stifle a laugh behind him. “I will not tolerate infighting. Unfortunately, the White House is only as big as it is, and I trust you can work next to each other without me having to arbitrate and enforce time-out. Is that understood?”

Alex nodded, and so did Jefferson, reluctantly.

“Thomas, you’ve been here a long time. Surely you can tolerate Alexander’s presence until you are called to more pressing matters. (Jefferson preened a bit.) Alexander, you are a smart man. Your essays have had avid readers, my staff and myself included. I appreciate your combativeness. I was just like you when I was younger. But sometimes you need to make sure the words that come out of your mouth are thought through. This is why we came to you and hope to employ you in the future.”

Alex perked up and gaped. “Thank you, sir”, he let out as Washington dismissed them with a hand gesture. He got up and walked out in a daze. This. This was what it all was about. This was what it was to get a glimpse of the room where it happened.

As he exited, he heard Lafayette’s voice echo with a faint “I still think it would have been edifying to see how that chair fit,  _ mon général _ ” and the President’s reply of “please, Gilbert, behave for once”.

 

* * *

 

Alex turned his phone on.

 

From : Curls

Why are you such a drama queen honestly Alex

 

From : Curls

Alex?

 

From : Curls

Alexander Hamilton you better answer me right now

 

From : Curls

Honestly Alexander I look terrible in black I don’t think I would make a good widow

* * *

 

At that same time, Angelica walked into his office. She set a familiar white cup of coffee in front of Alex.

“John had Peggy text me. Told me you were being dramatic. He asked me to meet him at the visitor’s entrance and gave me this. Honestly, Alexander, date the guy before anyone else does,” she said with a frown as she left. “He told me that if I found you and you were alive, you should text him immediately. I am not a carrier pigeon, Alexander.” 

Alex sipped at his cup. White mocha, two shots of espresso. A little bit of cinnamon.

* * *

 

To : Curls

Let me take you out tonight

 

From : Curls

Is it you, Alexander’s ghost?

 

From : Curls

I will be at your door at 7pm. Wash the blood off your hands.

* * *

 

Nervous? I am not nervous, thought Alex nervously as he paced down the small corridor of his and Hercules’ flat. Kitchen, living room, bathroom. Bathroom, living room, kitchen. Repeat. 

Hercules looked at him incredulously from the couch.“Honestly, man, it will be fine. You know John. There is no way anything could go wrong.”

“I know that”, snapped Alex. He winced. “Sorry, Herc. John is so nice and sweet and I mean how could it go wrong? We’ve been talking for a month now but it feels like it just clicks, you know? Sometimes these kinds of things happen. But this is not a  _ telenovela  _ and -”

The door rang. Alex froze, somewhere behind the kitchen counter. Hercules jumped over the couch and opened the door. John stood there, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

Alex all but threw Herc to the side in his haste to get to the door. “Hi”, he said with a goofy smile.

“Hey,” answered John with a similarly stupid grin. He looked good. Didn’t he always look good anyway? No, Alex firmly decided, he looked EXTRA good. His untied hair fell just so, and his light blue shirt brought out the green in his hazel eyes, his tight jeans hugged his - and where was Alex going with that?

He cleared his throat. Where he wanted to smoothly ask “shall we?” only a hasty “let’s go then” came out. John nodded and they left the appartment, Herc’s shout of “I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TIME TO GIVE JOHN THE SHOVEL TALK” echoing in the staircase behind them.

 

 

“Alex. Is your secret dating place my coffee shop? Because as you can see, I am here. That means the coffee shop is closed. And I am not breaking in,” said John in the bus Alex had suggested they take. “Unless this is taking us to the White House. Which is worse. I am not breaking in the White House and peeing in Jefferson’s drawers or whatever you had planned.”

Alexander blushed at the use of the term “secret dating place”. He’d told John that he wanted to show him his favorite spot in the city, where he would unwind on particularly moody days (usually when the warmth of the coffee shop was overpowered by the noise of the crowd). He would bring a book and read the hours away, or sometimes a notebook, and well, if this one was filled with sketches of John’s eyes or poems about his hands, that was nobody’s business but Alex’s.

They got off the bus not that far from the White House and walked down 17th Street; Alex stopped at a small pizza parlor and bought a few slices as well as a bottle of wine (it was cheap. But sometimes, they were the best one. He vowed that he would never tell Lafayette that, lest the Frenchman collapse in distress). They kept on walking down the street, chatting quietly, until, finally, they reached West Potomac Park.

John’s smiled widened. Alex led him down a small path, then across the lawn; they found shelter under a willow by Constitution Gardens. The stars were reflecting in the water; it, frankly, looked like the sky would never end. It was August, and the air was warm. You could hear the rumble of the city and a few people were walking their dog or having a jog through the park. They settled down on the grass.

“Is this your Jefferson-free zone, then?” joked John.

Alex laughed. “Among other things. It’s such a great place, John. If you push a bit farther down that path, you’ll find the Veterans Memorial, and the one with that big-ass statue of Lincoln, you know? And the MLK memorial is there too. (John knew all that. He had been in the city longer than him. He just liked to listen to Alex talk.) It’s just a great place to sit down and think about what we’ll leave after we’re gone, right?”

John hummed. “A legacy, hmm? I can’t say I’m surprised, Alexander Hamilton.”

Alex had laid out the pizza and wine on his jacket, on the ground. That evening, they drank from the bottle. And there were very few stars in that lake that could not be seen in their eyes as well.

 

 

“I had a really great night, John, thank you”, said Alex as he walked John to his flat. It was not that far from his place, actually. He was grateful for that : he was feeling quite elated, which had nothing to do with the wine, and knew he had a tendancy to get stranded in these situations.

That was the moment, wasn’t it? The moment he’d know if he got to taste John’s lips or if all hope was lost. Because honestly, it had been a perfect evening. Alexander Hamilton didn’t do anything less than perfectly. Actually, that was untrue. Either he did an A+ job, or he failed miserably. There never was any middle ground for him. What if this night had been a terrible flop? He should have known a picnic in the park was a bad idea for a first date. It was too cliché. It was third date material. He’d blown his chances. He was going to go back to his flat and look up cats, adopt maybe half a dozen, those he couldn’t disappoint. OR could he? John said something.

“Huh?” eloquently answered Alex, who was debating over whether to buy tuna or salmon for Pickles, the first of his cat family.

“Alexander”, muttered John, “if you were planning on kissing me, now would be the right time, don’t you think?”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He gently placed a hand on John’s cheek and their lips met. The Star-Spangled Banner all but started blasting in Alexander’s head. John put his hands on Alex’s waist and the kiss quickly deepened and took a not-so-gentle turn. Alex slotted his body against John’s and his hands found their way in John’s loose hair; the man moaned and Alexander took that as an excuse to get his tongue in the other’s mouth. Somehow, they had ended up with John’s back to the door, and the loud  _ thud  _ made the two men stop and stare at each other, somewhat panting.

John blushed. “I’d invite you in, but… I haven’t had anyone over in a while and I don’t have condoms and I don’t trust myself to be able to stop if you get through that door.”

_ Fuck. There was that boner again.  _ “It’s okay”, breathed Alex. “I hadn’t planned on the evening going that well either.” They parted. Their hands could not seem to stop touching each other, though; re-placing a loose strand of hair, smoothing a crinkly shirt, squeezing a well-toned forearm. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” hopefully asked Alex.

“I’m working 11 to 7pm. I’ll be waiting.” And with a final, light kiss to Alexander’s cheek, not far from his neck, a bit too low, a bit too quick, John closed his door.

Alex made his way home. Maybe adopting Pickles would have to wait.

* * *

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

I EXPECT YOU TO BE HOME BEFORE SUNRISE YOUNG MAN

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Should I get you a wheelchair for tomorrow or will you be able to walk

* * *

 

From : Angel-ica

I am not sure you should have told Lafayette about your date he downed a whole bottle to wish you luck

* * *

 

From : Curls

That was a perfect night. Sweet dreams, Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a fluffy one.  
> All I know of the Potomac Park comes from Google. I am sure it shows. It looks lovely though.
> 
> Come talk to me @iwillgladlyjointhefight on tumblr !


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonjour ! Thank you for keeping up with me, you are all awesome.  
> You may notice I bumped up the rating. Yup. I wasn't planning on writing smut. But I did. It's my first time. Please be nice?  
> Thank you to Elisa. You are the bee's knees. The cat's pajamas.
> 
> This one took forever to write I was blushing so much. Lin, I am so sorry.

When he got back to his appartment, Alex was greeted by four smiles : a knowing one from Hercules, a sympathetic one from Angelica, a timid one from a girl he didn’t know, and a huge, devilish one from a very drunk Lafayette, who popped open a bottle of champagne as Alex made his way through the door.

“Honestly? Isn’t that a bit premature, not to mention cliché?” grinned Alex.

“Ah, Alexandre, you’ll find there is nothing  _ premature  _ about myself”, all but hollered Lafayette in a very slurred and thick French accent. 

“ _ Oh my god _ ”, winced Angelica, but she was smiling. “I am very sorry, Alexander. Lafayette came to my place, and he insisted on celebrating your date, and then next thing you know he had found your adress, I really don’t want to know how. And then he dragged my sister and I - that’s Eliza, by the way - here, and…”

“...and imagine my face as I open the door to two gorgeous girls and a drunk Frenchman, honestly, how could I say no to this -,” continued Hercules.

“- and next thing you know, we have to physically stop Lafayette from calling who knows who and getting a saber delivered because he wanted to DECAPITATE that bottle”, completed Eliza. Alex smiled at her. How many Schuyler sisters were there? And how could they all look more beautiful than the other?  (“I am sorry, it’s called  _ sabrer le champagne _ , that’s how it’s done, I don’t make the rules,” was complaining Lafayette, whom Hercules had accompanied to the kitchen to get clean glasses.)

“I am really sorry you have to witness that, Eliza, but pleased it’s an occasion to meet you”, said Alexander with a warm smile as he took his shoes off and walked to the couch where Angelica had already gotten seated, looking resigned. 

“Hands off, Casanova, she’s way out of your league”, the older Schuyler said. “Anyway, aren’t you a taken man now?”

“Yes, Alex, please share with the class,” joked Hercules as he sat down, setting five glasses in front of them on the coffee table.

“I owe Angelica 20 dollars. I really thought you wouldn’t come back tonight,” pouted Lafayette as he sat on the floor, stretching his long legs under the coffee table and pouring the champagne.

Alex felt his heart swell up with a warm kind of contentment he wasn’t familiar with. This felt so right. A group of friends, toasting to a trivial event (toasting to him? didn’t that feel even more glorious?). He’d never had that before. A glass of champagne was pushed in his hand.

“How do you know we are drinking to my success and not a tremendous failure?” he asked.

Eliza laughed. “Well, at first, we thought we’d either have to celebrate or comfort you. And Lafayette decided that we would have to come here any way. We were in the car when John texted Peggy and Peggy texted me.” She clinked her glass against Alexander and almost downed it in one shot, wincing at the icy bubbles tickling her tongue and throat. They all toasted to Alex. He commited this moment to memory.

 

* * *

To : Curls

Good morning, John

 

To : Curls

I can’t believe you told Peggy you gossip girl you

 

From : Curls

Contrarily to popular belief, I  _ do  _ kiss and tell. XOXO

* * *

 

Alex smiled as he stretched out his tired body in bed. The night had ended late. Actually, the Schuyler sisters had taken a taxi at around 2am. Lafayette and Hercules had formed an instant bond that apparently originated from dick jokes and Alex-bashing and had played chess until late in the night. Well. Chess with shots instead of the pieces. When Alex had left for his room at around 5am, Hercules was kicking French ass. 

Alexander tied his hair hastily and put on a shirt he found lying around, didn’t bother with pants; after all, it was Saturday, it was 11am, and he had no plans. John was at work, Angelica and her sisters were visiting family upstate for the week-end. Maybe he would start a Twitter war. He had gotten around Hanson’s Twitter ban concerning State matters by creating half a dozen fake ones. Well. Half a dozen was inaccurate. He created a new one every time Jefferson blocked him.

He got out of his room, scrolling his news feed on his old smartphone. He turned on the coffee maker, scratching lightly at his stubble. The soft hum of the coffee pouring was the most beautiful song to his ears. He grabbed a box of cereals, a bowl, and sat on the nearest stool. He hadn’t felt like sitting back for breakfast in so long, but this morning, he was content.

Hercules’ door swung open and a mostly naked Lafayette came out. He trudged to the coffee maker in his boxer briefs, muttering sleepily in French, then plopped down on the stool next to Alex’s with a steaming mug in his hands. 

“Did you sleep naked with Hercules?” asked Alex. He was a pretty straight-forward person.

“I slept next to him,  _ c’est tout _ ,” said Lafayette. “I am very confident in my body.”

As he should be. The guy looked incredible. Alex’s gaze fell to his legs and noticed a pretty big scar on the man’s left calf. He also noted the dark hickey that was blossoming along his collarbone. That one looked like it had been there for some days. Alex’s eyes widened and he looked away.

Lafayette had seen, though. He flashed a smile at Alexander. “You can watch but not touch,  _ mon cher _ . This is guarded property and aren’t you as well?”

Alex sighed. “It was a really great night, Lafayette. I really think we can make it work. Nobody’s ever taken my heart like John does.”

“Ah, be careful or you’ll end up writing cheesier songs than my people”, quipped Lafayette as he fished out his phone from the waistband of his underwear, reading a text and smiling. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. Your country needs me.” He got off his seat and walked to Herc’s room.

“Are you banging the Prez?” yelled Alex after him. He heard Lafayette laugh and Hercules groan.

 

* * *

@ThomasJefferson

Great night out with @JamesMadison ! Had a blast at the @bistroducoin great service and value

 

@publius1757

@ThomasJefferson honestly why do you always sound like a yelp review

 

@ThomasJefferson

@publius1757 I’m sorry?

 

@publius1757

@ThomasJefferson I am sure that was a nice change from the shitty mac n cheese you always seem to be instagramming

* * *

 

To : Curls

Wyd

 

From : Curls

I thought I made it clear I was at work. Were you going to sext me 

 

To : Curls 

That was the main idea

 

To : Curls

Well more like woo you bc I am a classy person

 

To : Curls

Like saying how your eyes shone brighter than the moon last night and also your ass looked dope in those jeans

 

From : Curls

OH MY GOD ALEX 

* * *

 

To : Baguette Kisser

Wyd

 

From : Baguette Kisser

I literally left 3 hours ago

 

To : Baguette Kisser

John is coming over tonight

 

To : Baguette Kisser

So should you Hercules misses you

 

To : Baguette Kisser 

He says he doesn’t but he totally does

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Is it okay if I arrive around 11pm

 

To : Baguette Kisser

I know for a fact there is no gala or event needing your presence tonight

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Mount Vernon is an hour away from your place

 

To : Baguette Kisser

OH MY GOD LAF

* * *

 

When Alex opened his door to John at 8pm, he briefly had time to take in the sight of his boyfriend (he delighted in the word) (had they even agreed on being boyfriends? they just had kissed, did that mean they were together? Why was Alex thrown back to the woes of high school?) before the man launched himself at him. Lips clashed with just a hint of teeth; Alex opened his mouth in surprise and John shamelessly used that to nibble at his lower lip.

“I hate this stage of a relationship,” said Hercules’ low voice behind them. “Why can’t you already be bored with each other and argue about dinner like normal people?”

“Do you mind if I use your shower? And borrow a shirt? I didn’t take the time to go home after work”, asked John.

John was going to use his shower. And probably his bodywash. And, holy cow, he would probably even be  _ naked  _ under the spray.

“Absolutely,” he managed to gargle out. “Towels are under the sink. Use the vanilla bodywash, okay? Nobody wants you to smell of raspberries like Mulligan here.”

“Really, Hamilton?” smirked Hercules as John closed the door to the bathroom. “Having a problem with raspberries all of a sudden?”

“I hate raspberries.”

“I’ve seen you eat a whole tub of raspberry icecream just three days ago while watching the President give his speech about student loans.”

“I don’t see what you are getting at. Please vacate my immediate vicinity as I go get my  _ boyfriend  _ a clean shirt.”

He went to his drawer. Was there a shirt that would fit John best? Honestly, the man could wear a garbage bag and make it work. It was unfair. He couldn’t wait to run his hands down his body. Suddenly the shirt idea seemed to have very little appeal.

“What wheels are turning in that brain of yours, Hamilton?” grinned John as he entered the room, and  _ oh _ , tiny droplets of water were running from his neck down to the hollow of his collarbone, and Alex’s mouth was desperate to chase them; John had put back on his jeans before getting out of the bathroom and you could see the hint of a happy trail disappearing from his navel down to the waistband of his pants.

“You know, shirts are absolutely optional in this flat. Actually I am going to propose a shirt ban on the whole US territory”, said Alexander.

“Please keep me informed on how that goes. I am sure you would be delighted to see a shirtless Donald Trump on TV”, quipped John with a shudder. “I’ll take this one.” He grabbed a battered “Washington 2k16” campaign shirt and put it on in one sweet motion. Alex mourned the loss of tan skin but chose to rejoice in the patriotism. He took John by the hand, kissed his open palm, and led him to the living room.

 

 

When Lafayette joined them, about 4 hours later, well past midnight, he was greeted by the lovely sight of one very happy shirtless and pants-less Alexander, a comfortably shirtless and socks-less John, and a fully-clothed Hercules, all sat on the floor.

“Dude, you missed strip poker,” wailed Alexander. “I lost so bad. I am pretty sure everyone conspired against me.”

“You’re in time for Drinking game, Indy edition though,” said John as he reached for the DVD player remote.

“I am sorry,  _ mes amis _ . Some kind of diplomacy only happens at night,” apologized Lafayette with a twinkle in his eyes. He took his shoes off and curled up on the couch. “What are the rules?”

Hercules was setting shot glasses on the table along with a rum bottle. “Indiana Jones reaches for his gun, you take a shot; Indy nearly loses his hat, you take a shot; the whip is used, you take a shot; Indy's progress across the world is shown on a map , you take a shot. Hardcore mode is that you take a shot anytime you thirst after Harrison Ford.”

“This game seems deadly. Everyone is gay for young Harrison Ford,” remarked John.

“And that’s a shot for you, Laurens,” scolded Hercules. 

Alexander leant on his side until his lips were close to John’s ear. “I recommend you don’t make too many remarks about Ford. I am not blowing a drunk man tonight”.

John was remarkably quiet for the whole movie.

 

 

Two hours later, in Alexander’s bedroom, John was doing his best to stay quiet. Thank god, Lafayette and Hercules had decided that this was a great time to marathon all the Indiana Jones movies and were therefore somewhat occupied, if the sighs - followed by a slurred “shot” - were anything to go by. His own sighs were not longing ones, though. He exhaled slowly as Alex nipped at his hipbone. They had all but fallen on the bed in a tangle of limbs and roaming hands had soon been replaced by roaming mouths. Alex blew hot on the wet stripe he had licked to the edge of John’s pants, then lifted his head in a silent question. John nodded. Alexander unbuttoned his jeans and slid them down his legs, taking the time to let his hands linger for a second, barely there; it became impossible to conceal that he was harder than he’d ever been. Alex smiled as he left the pants fall to the floor and kissed his way up John’s calves, mouthed at the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, peppering them with feather-light kisses. John all but moaned in frustration. He could feel against his leg that the other man was as excited as he was. John was no blushing virgin; something had to happen  _ now _ .

As if reading his thoughts, Alex’s mouthed a hot, breathy kiss to the bulge in his boxers. John’s hand flew to Alex’s hair on instinct; Alex chuckled.  _ The fucker knows exactly what he is doing _ . Alex’s finger toyed with the elastic band on John’s underwear. “It’s okay,” whispered John. He felt some more kisses to the skin right under his navel as Alexander slipped him free from his bowers. He felt him take a sharp breath. “You’re so beautiful”, hummed Alexander. John barely had time to blush before Alex lowered his mouth onto his cock, kissing the tip, barely, then kissing down, down, and then licking up the underside. John wimpered as he felt the wet heat of Alex’s mouth surround him. It had been a long time. He had to keep his chill. Think of his taxes or something. 

To be honest and fair to John, Alex was doing his best so that he couldn’t think of his taxes. Actually, he was fucking giving his best performance to date. And when John felt his cock reach the back of Alexander’s throat, and the man hummed contentedly as he started moving up and down, a hand palming John’s ass, he couldn’t suppress a broken moan and an unvoluntary thrust of his hips. He stilled, worried Alex had been surprised. Surprised was not the term but delighted was more like it as Alexander intensified the movement, licking slowly as he came back up and sank back down on John’s cock, and reaching for his balls; that was the moment John chose (or, didn’t get to choose) to cry out a breathy “Alexander, I’m -” and spilling in his mouth. He felt Alex swallow around him.

John took a few deep breaths as Alexander leant against him and kissed his cheek; he took his head in his hands and kissed him on the lips, tasting himself in Alex’s breath of surprise. He reached down to stroke at Alex’s obvious straining erection. “You don’t have to -” whispered Alexander, but John shut him up with a kiss : he didn’t have to, he wanted to. He slipped his hand down Alexander’s boxers. A few short tugs and a twist of the wrist as he nibbled at Alex’s jawline were all it took before he felt Alex shudder and his hand got sticky with his release. He took the soiled boxers off his boyfriend and cleaned them both up quickly with a shirt that was lying around. 

Alex grinned sleepily at him and John opened his arms. They didn’t even bother getting into the sheets as they fell asleep, Alex cuddled against John, John’s arm around his middle, on that warm August night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HOPE YOU'RE SATISFIED  
> For your info, yup, sabrer le champagne is something us French do. Not everyone. But you decapitate a bottle of champ and it's a great party trick.
> 
> This chapter, especially the blowjob, is dedicated to Jessica as she is lying on her sickbed. Be strong, bro.
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr @iwillgladlyjointhefight. I have a mouth that won't shut up and an unhealthy addiction to Daveed Diggs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all ! Thanks for putting up with my sinning.  
> Thank you to the beautiful Elisa for being so supportive (in all aspects).
> 
> I've had a hard time writing and being busy with real life. I hope it doesn't show to much. I needed to be a bitch to TJ.

An annoying buzzing next to Alex’s head. A hand closing around a telephone and aimlessly swinging. An annoying buzzing from the other end of the room.

“I am not sure throwing your phone will do any good,” sleepily muttered John.

Alex opened his eyes. The warm sun was filtering through the blinds, casting dark shadows and pools of gold around the messy bedroom. He turned to John, sprawled on the sheets next to him, and oh, what a sight. The night had been hot, they hadn’t even bothered with getting into bed properly; with a quick thankful prayer to the sun and global warming, Alex let his eyes linger on John, lying on his stomach, a lean leg bent while the other was tangled with his own, shileding his head from the light in the crook of his arms.

Alex got closer and trailed a series of light kisses on the dusting of freckles sprinkling John’s shoulder. The other man hummed happily. He flipped on his back so he could face Alex and caught his lips in a slow kiss, nothing remotely hungry or urging, a gentle kiss that felt like home to the long home-less Alexander.

“Man, I’ve been texting you for half an hour now, pancakes are -” A voice opened the door, squeaked, and slammed it shut. A few seconds later, the door reopened, and they could see Lafayette’s head appear, give them a tumbs up with a wide smile, and leave, door still open.

 

“I heard there were pancakes?” asked Alex as he entered the kitchen in sweatpants, five minutes later. “Man I’m famished.”

“I am scarred. Scarred for life, I tell you,” whined Hercules as he poured the batter in the pan. “Have you ever heard of leaving a sock on your doorknob?”

“You’ve seen me naked twice in two days,” said Lafayette as he set down four mugs of coffee on the counter.

“That doesn’t mean I want to see Alex’s morning wood when I wake up.”

John patted Alex’s thigh as he sat down next to him at the table. “Ah well, Mulligan, your loss, my gain.”

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick. Eat up,” said Hercules as he set a plate in front of John, stacked high with pancakes dripping with syrup.

All in all, nothing much was done that day. Hercules and Lafayette pretty much were in a comatose state, and John was happy curling up on the couch next to Alex while he updated his blog and answered comments, reruns of 21 Jump street playing on the TV. When Lafayette and John left at the end of the day, Alex couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing already.

 

* * *

To : Curls

John Jefferson is at it again

 

To : Curls

He is making his chair squeak on purpose I swear John

 

To : Curls

I broke your pen I am sorry it just snapped

* * *

 

To : Hunkules Mulligan

Do you know how to get ink stains off suit pants

* * *

 

Alexander looked around, still holding a piece of tissue to the ink on his leg. He was pretty sure there was a box of new pens he had left there not so long ago - actually, not long after smashing the Supply Jar.

“Looking for something, Hamilton?” asked Jefferson in a sugary-sweet voice.

“Not your opinion, that’s for sure,” retorted Alex as his eyes spotted the box. On the top shelf of the cupboard. Out of reach. Of course.

He walked to the cupboard and weighed his options as he pretended to browse a book about the creation of the New York Post. Resorting himself to writing his report on his computer and having to walk to Jefferson to print it : no. Getting on a chair and giving Jefferson an opportunity to mock him and maybe even snap a picture : no way. Writing his report with his own blood? That sounded a bit dramatic, even for him. No. The only way to go was killing Jefferson and using his body as a prop.

“You know, if you need help to reach up, you need only ask,” said Jefferson.

Alexander felt the blood rush to his head. He walked to Jefferson’s desk, and, with a pointed look at his computer’s desktop wallpaper (Jefferson and Madison with cocktails by a pool. He almost threw up) snarled “I know you need to change your armrest, Jefferson, but I am not that far up your ass.”

 _Apparently_ , Thomas Jefferson was a protective boyfriend. Alex found this out the hard way, when a box of pens was hurled at his head full speed.

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Thomas just texted me apparently you are being a child

 

To : Baguette Kisser

HE was the one to put my pens up on the cabinet

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Use a damn printer Alexandre

 

To : Baguette Kisser

It’s on Jefferson’s side of the office

* * *

 

“Delivery for a Hamilton?”

Jefferson and Alex raised their head. It was Arnold, from IT, carrying a box that he placed on Alex’s desk; Alex signed the form and opened the letter taped on the box.

 

“ _Hamilton,_

_Please refrain from killing your coworkers or insulting them._

_I trust this will lessen the number of times I hear you or Thomas go at each other’s throats._

_President W._ ”

And in a tidier scrawl:

“ _P.S : This took some convincing. Not that I mind._

 _Lafayette_ ”

Alex opened the box with a smile. Sure enough, a printer was in there. He did his best to ignore Jefferson’s angry stare as he set it up, making sure the headed paper with the President’s signature was in his direct line of sight. He knew the other man had seen it when he heard him angrily stomp out of the office.

* * *

 To: potus@whitehouse.gov

Thank you, sir.

A. Hamilton

 

From: potus@whitehouse.gov

I only aim to make the White House a safer place for all.

G.Washington

* * *

 

When Angelica, who looked like her head was about to explode - her weekend had been a mess, Fox News was once again dissing the President about his statement on gun regulation, three galas were supposed to be held that Saturday and she had to prioritize to know who to send - gave Alexander a bunch of files and asked him to bring them to the President as soon as possible, he was more than happy to oblige. Jefferson had been ranting on the phone to Madison all through lunch (“ _He got him a printer, James. I worked with him for a year and he called me Jonas until three months ago_ ”) and Alex needed to get out of there.

Angelica had told him the President would be waiting. He knocked three times on the door to the Oval Office : he heard the sound of papers moving around, and a muffled “come in”.

“Mr Hamilton,” said Washington, barely looking up from his papers.

“Mr President. Here are the upcoming events for the week. Angelica is still working on the galas this week-end, she asked me to come to you.” He set the folders on the corner of the desk. “May I say, sir, that I am glad to take this opportunity to thank you personally, I…”

Washington let out a sigh. “Hamilton. While I am happy to hear that you and Lafayette have become such quick friends, I would rather he told me about the French trade agreement I would like to sign than have him check his phone every second to make sure you have not permanently injured Jefferson. That will be all.”

Alex made his way out. “But,” the President continued, “I am very happy to hear from my staff that your job is more than satisfactory. I think it would be wise to envision a more permanent position. Whatever event Miss Schuyler bestows upon me this week-end, I hope to find you there to discuss it with me. Thank you, Hamilton.”

Alexander managed to gargle out a breathy thank you. As he closed the door, he heard a distinctive _thud_ coming from under the President’s desk followed by a dull “ _ouch, fuck_ ”, heavy with a French accent. He all but ran away.

* * *

 

To : Baguette Kisser

Please tell me my brain made that up

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Am busy

* * *

 

To : Curls

I think I walked in on the President of the Free World getting a blowjob

 

To : Curls

I thought he was some kind of mystical being who doesn’t do that, like teachers

 

From : Curls

You are so naïve. You’re lucky to have a job at communications, that’s a scandal waiting to happen

 

To : Curls

It was from Lafayette

 

From : Curls

This is the part where the CIA kills us right

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

I got you a printer and a job ! What a fine day for French-American relations

 

From : Baguette Kisser

We’ll talk about what you owe me later

* * *

 

From : potus@whitehouse.gov

Hamilton,

You owe the French Ambassador nothing.

I did not need convincing.

You saw nothing.

G. Washington

* * *

 

To : Hunkules Mulligan

Just found myself in the middle of Monica-gate #2. Please have drinks ready

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SCANDALOUS  
> Will Alex ever be able to look the President in the eye (even while standing on a chair)? Will Lafayette be discreet? Will Jefferson send assassins to Alexander's house? Stay tuned.
> 
> You can come sin with me @iwillgladlyjointhefight. I'm free tonight. It's a date.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ! Thank you very much for your kudos and kind words. I blow a kiss to all of you.  
> Thank you to Elisa for always being so enthusiastic. 
> 
> And if you don't know, I'm French. So I can bitch at the French. It's what we do best.

From : Angel-ica

Got a mail from POTUS. Says he wants you at whatever gala he is supposed to attend. What have you done

 

To : Angel-ica

Busy planning my one-way trip to Tibet

 

From : Angel-ica

Alex even a buddhist monk would murder you

 

From : Angel-ica

Hope you enjoy foie gras. Gala for the French President on Saturday. Sending you the mail with info. Don’t fuck it up. You have a +1.

 

To : Angel-ica

NO

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

I heard you were coming on Saturday ! Meet Président Bourbon ! This is a great opportunity ! Keep your mouth shut

 

To : Baguette Kisser

Oh how I wish you’d done the same

* * *

 

From : Curls

Jefferson was at the shop with Madison and complained about you getting a printer daddy?

 

From : Curls

Is there something I am missing there

 

To : Curls

I can’t believe it’s only Monday

 

To : Curls

Please come over tonight

 

From : Curls

Will Printer Daddy be there

* * *

 

“So George Washington, President of the United States, is your printer daddy.” John downed half his beer bottle in one go. “That’s a sentence I never thought I’d have to say.”

“And a sentence I never thought I’d hear,” said Alex. “And I honestly wish that was the weirdest shit that’s happened today.”

He glared at Lafayette who stretched his legs shamelessly on Herc’s lap and flashed a huge grin at him. Of course Hercules had invited him. They were practically attached at the hip.

“You have no proof, Hamilton. Maybe George banged his knee under the table,” he suggested.

“Oh, I know full well what he was banging. His knees don’t have a French accent.” Alex winced. John scooted closer to him on the floor and squeezed his thigh with a smile.

“I didn’t think you would be so prude, Alex,” he joked. “But then again, I understand that you are jealous. I bet Lafayette doesn’t have to use the term “printer” before “daddy” when talking about the President.”

Alex whined and buried his head in John’s shoulder. John bit his lip, trying not to laugh as he stroked Alex’s smooth hair. Alex huffed against him, and he could feel the unwilling smile spreading on his lips.

Hercules clapped his hands. “Okay. Now that we’ve established that Lafayette is the First Gentleman, can we be real a second? Alex, do you have a tux for the gala? John, do you?”

“No,” answered Alex as John said “yes”. Alex, still nestled against John, raised his eyes questioningly. “Can we not get into that? We’ll talk later”, muttered John against Alexander’s temple.

Alex shrugged. He’d get his answer soon enough. “Is this the moment we insert a Pretty Woman-esque montage? Because this is not happening. My suit will do just fine.”

“Your suit looks shabby”, shot Lafayette. “No offense, _mon petit lion_. But this is a diplomatic gala and I am getting you a tuxedo, whether you want it or not. I trust Laurens will help you put it on.”

“Maybe try shopping in the children section?” smirked Hercules. Alex flipped him the bird.

“I think you would look hot in a tux,” hummed John.

So that was how Alex entrusted Lafayette with the task of getting him a tuxedo.

 

* * *

 

@ThomasJefferson

Happy to be at the Mori exposition on Saturday ! I hope @PRBourbon will have a grand night at the White House !

 

@publius1757

@ThomasJefferson what a suck-up. How mad are you to not be there and flaunt your French flag shirt

 

@ThomasJefferson

@publius1757 I’ve only worn that shirt once at work on casual Friday, Hamilton. @POTUS I think it’s time for disciplinary measures sir

 

@publius1757

@ThomasJefferson As an intern at Communications I am pretty sure the President will never answer you on Twitter about that CHECKMATE

 

Direct Message from @POTUS

We’ll talk about that on Saturday

* * *

 

 

The week flew by in a blur. Between the preparations for the press coverage of the presidential visit, briefing the staff, making sure all translations were correct (the French liked it when you spoke their language. Which was stupid since it was a visit to the US.), getting in touch with the French equivalent of his office, Alex barely had time to eat, let alone spend time with his friends. A few texts to John, a daily coffee-maker-made cup of tar shared with Angelica as she frantically browsed through the international press, a thankful nod to Hercules who was adjusting his brand new tux to make sure it fit perfectly as he got to his room and tried to work a bit on his blog, a quick kiss in passing on Lafayette’s cheek who was reverting to his French habits.

So when Friday came, Alex was exhausted. He’d texted John who was coming over for the night; Lafayette had declined in favor of working over _details on the trade agreement_ with the President. That was a load of bullshit, if you asked Alex, but he couldn’t blame the guy for wanting to get it on.

When John got to the apartment, Hercules opened the door for him. A garment bag in his hands containing his tuxedo, he came in and instantaneously spotted Alex, sitting up on the couch, lightly snoring.

“The week has been long for him,” quietly said Hercules. “He said he wanted to wait for you for dinner, though. I am making baked potatoes. Go take care of your boyfriend.”

John nodded with a smile and squeezed Hercules’ arm in thanks. He carefully went and set his bag on Alex’s desk in his room, took off his shoes, and walked to the couch; he silently kneeled next to Alexander, who was leaning more and more on the armrest. God, the bags under his eyes went deep. He deserved the sleep. But according to Angelica (through Peggy) and Hercules, whom he had texted plenty during the week, Alex first and foremost needed to eat something that wasn’t a poptart or a fruit pouch. He lightly shook his shoulder - well, more like a caress, really, whispering his name. To no avail.

“Alexander,” he called a bit louder, still as gently, but this time, leaned in for a kiss on the man’s cheek. He saw a sleepy smile appear, but still no sign of waking up. “Alexander, you need to eat,” he said, this time more firmly, sliding his hand around Alex’s middle and rubbing in smooth circles with his thumb.

“John?” Alexander opened his eyes with difficulty. “Shit, how long have you been there? I wanted to cook for you. What time is it?”

“Alexander, it’s okay. You fell asleep for a little bit. Hercules is taking care of the food. How much have you slept the past week?”

“I don’t need you to baby me,” groaned Alex. Apparently, he was grumpy when woken up.

“We’ll see about that, baby girl,” quipped John as he got up and planted a kiss to Alexander’s forehead. He saw the other man’s eyes widen and - had his pupils slightly dilated? John squeezed his shoulder with a wide smile and walked to the kitchen.

 

Dinner went quick. Alex was silent, still half asleep; John was making sure he didn’t choke on his food; Hercules watched in equal parts affection and distress at the sappiness. When all the plates were cleared - and John had forced Alex to a second helping - and left in the sink, Hercules bid them goodnight and went to work in his room, wanting to leave them space. John was grateful. Hercules always knew what to do and what to say.

He all but carried Alexander to his room (“but, no, John, we haven’t seen each other in four days, we can watch a movie, how about the Lord of the Rings, you know it by heart John, we can totally make out while it plays”). When he set Alex on his bed, the other man started to lay down and close his eyes already. John shook his head with a warm smile and started undressing him, leaving him in his boxers, and he would have been lying if he said he didn’t revel in the view of his boyfriend opening his arms, inviting him in, snuggling under the cover. He was quick to take off his own clothes and join Alex in bed, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, nuzzling at the crook of his neck where he smelt faintly of sweat and vanilla as Alexander closed his arms around John’s waist and almost immediately fell asleep.

 

 

On Saturday morning, John opened his eyes - and couldn’t see. That was probably because his face was buried in Alex’s untied hair. He couldn’t move - probably because Alex’s limbs were closely tangled with his. What he could, though, was feel Alex’s boner against his thigh. He itched to slide his hand between their bodies and touch him; but Alex slept so peacefully, and he needed the rest so desperately. So for now, John was content watching the midday sun catch on Alexander’s lashes, casting shadows along his cheeks he longed to trace with his fingers; and that was when John Laurens knew he definitely had it bad for Alexander Hamilton.

* * *

From : Baguette Kisser

I’m having a car sent to you. It looks official and it’s black

 

To : Baguette Kisser

Is this a riddle and is the answer you

 

From : Baguette Kisser

I hope there are snails on the menu and you have to eat one

* * *

 

The gala was starting at 7.30pm. So, naturally, Alex was still getting ready at 6.45, fifteen minutes before the car was supposed to pick them up and drive them to the White House. John kept checking his watch nervously. He knew Alex wanted to look good. This night was a great networking opportunity, not to mention the job proposition the President had hinted at.

He was fiddling with his cufflinks when Alex finally got out of the bathroom and god, was he sight for sore eyes. Thanks to Hercules’ tailoring, the tux was a perfect fit, making Alex stand taller somehow, straighter, more confident. John gaped for a moment.

Alex hated wearing a bowtie. He hated them. He felt like a cheap magician about to saw his assistant in half. Maybe Jefferson could be his assistant and he could actually cut him through. Hm. But when he saw how John was looking at him… Well, he didn’t see it _per se_ , as he was too busy staring at his impeccable form. His own suit hugged him in all the right places, the untied bow hanging from his still-open collar, making Alex want to blow off a presidential gala in favor of nipping at his boyfriend’s collarbone for the whole night.

They smiled stupidly at each other. Alex came closer to John, wordlessly, and started tying his bowtie ( _what a show-off. he had just watched a Youtube tutorial to learn how to tie his_ ), kissing his cheekbone sweetly when he was done. They were interrupted by a flash.

“This is a great prom picture,” shrugged Hercules. “I’ll have it framed. Show it to the kids. That was when Uncle John and Uncle Alex were still free, before the CIA arrested them for disclosing State secrets.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mulligan,” smirked John.

“Hamilton’s mouth has a tendency to run off. I suggest you find a way to help keep it shut,” said Hercules.

“Thank you, Mulligan, I’ll make sure to give John a blowjob at the White House, with the French and American Presidents in attendance. The car is here,” rushed Alex.

The car was a fucking limo. A note was on the backseat. Alex handed it to John.

“ _Your date is paid for by the Franco-American Alliance. No staining the leather, please. Lafayette_ ”

 

They got to the White House right on time. The traffic was what it is. They had done well to leave early enough. They got in quick, security checks were fast and efficient. Alex led the way to the East Room and got overwhelmed for a second.

The place was crowded. Of course, he knew it would be. He could recognize several officials, senators and the mayor, the press, Vice President Von Steuben of course, and the Treasury Secretary. Everyone was holding a glass of champagne and talking amicably.

“ _Ah ! Mes amis !_ ” Lafayette, clad in a navy tuxedo, which seemed to have been sewn onto his body, greeted them with a resounding kiss on both cheeks for each man. “Thank god you are here. Look at all these pompous _connards_. I am already on my second glass of champagne, I had to spend the day with the French Prime Minister and it made me remember why I left my country.” He waved at a waiter, who brought three full glasses, and thanked him.

They had just toasted when the door at the end of the room opened, letting through French President Bourbon, followed by President Washington, chatting with the French First Lady. Alex felt Lafayette stand straighter. The press rushed in to take pictures. Alex knew Angelica was probably not that far, monitoring it all. After a few smiling official handshakes, the press scattered across the room and people started getting more relaxed. Alexander saw Washington’s eyes scan the crowd, in the way he always did, but his eyes lit up when he saw Lafayette. It was interesting, thought Alexander. He’d never seen the two men actually interact.

“John Laurens ! If it isn’t a surprise !” A man clapped John on the back. Alex recognized him as the Governor of New Jersey, but damn if he knew his name. “How is your father, my boy?”

Alex shot a quizzical look at John, whose lips were tightly shut. “I could not tell you, Governor. I don’t get much news these days.”

“Ah, make sure to give him my best, will you?” the portly man said before leaving.

“John, what…” John interrupted him with a tug on his hand. “Please, Alexander. I am famished.” Alex chose to let it go as they walked to the buffet.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Lafayette making his way across the room to the Presidents. He shaked the French president’s hand and kissed his wife’s hand; she giggled and he shot a flirtatious smile at her with a compliment. He turned around and shook Washington’s hand. Maybe it lasted a bit too long, maybe it was the way Washington was leaning slightly towards the French ambassador; in any case, suddenly Alexander knew this wouldn’t stay a secret for long.

He finished the last of his champagne, a waiter immediately appeared to refill his cup. John smiled at Alexander’s gawking at the glass and kissed his cheek. Alex decided to ask the question that was burning his lips.

 

“John, who is your father?”

“Alexander, son”, interrupted George Washington, led by Lafayette, as John was opening his mouth to answer. Alex shook the President’s hand, spotting the French President in deep conversation with the Vice President.

“Mr President,” he reverently said. “Please allow me to introduce you to John Laurens, my better half.”

John blushed as the President shook his hand with a laugh : “I have no doubt you need someone to reign you in, Alexander (Lafayette playfully, yet discreetly, swatted at his arm with a lovestruck smile). Laurens? Any relation to the South Carolina Senator?”

“My father, sir,” said John dejectedly. Alex pretended he knew that already.

“I see”, nodded Washington. He added carefully : “Your father and I certainly don’t share many views. But I trust Gilbert and Alexander’s judgement. I am sure you are your own man, Mr Laurens.”

John smiled with a surprised, though pleased, look at the President. Meanwhile, Lafayette was beaming at Washington as if the sun was shining out of his ass. That was a nice change from the cocky attitude, thought Alex.

“Alexander,” continued Washington. He was a direct man, Alex appreciated that. “I am sure you heard the news. Hanson’s wife has found a new job across the country. He has decided to follow her. My speechwriter’s position is, as of October, vacant. I would like you to take it up.”

Alex choked on his champagne. “Sir? I am very honored but I am just an intern and...”

“Alex,” said Lafayette, “a position is vacant. Interns can be hired. We’ve all read your work. We’ve heard you talk. There is no one who would be, how you say? A better _aide_ to George. You have a way with words.”

Washington lightly patted Lafayette’s arm. “Could not have said it better myself, Gilbert. What do you say, son?” He extended his hand to Alex.

 _I am not throwing away my shot_ , thought Alex. He shook the President’s hand.

And it was a good thing that the post was not vacant until October, because Alexander was about to have a lot of work at Communications, as a press photographer snapped a quick shot of George Washington’s large hand on the small of Lafayette’s back, guiding him to the buffet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon petit lion = my little lion. That was Laf's nickname for Ham. Aaaw.  
> mes amis = my friends.  
> connards = assholes. Don't use this one in class, kids.
> 
> Come yell at me for using the term printer daddy on tumblr @iwillgladlyjointhefight ! I'm auto-kinkshaming.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone ! Welcome back.  
> Honestly, for this one I just felt like writing some porn. I know you like it.  
> Thank you Elisa, for the ideas and encouragement.
> 
> Lin, please don't read this. If you do, send me a message to tell me you don't hate me.

For now, Alexander Hamilton had no idea about the scandal that was about to be exposed. He was too busy scrunching up his nose at the billion types of French cheeses available on the buffet table. 

“I don’t get why the White House couldn’t have sprung for good old pizza,” he moaned to John.

“This is a presidential gala, Alex, not a school fair,” laughed John as he warily munched at some brie. “This could be worse. Lafayette promised you snails.”

“I’m pretty sure they are hidden in those puff pastries over there.”

John let out an amused snort as they walked to a more isolated corner of the room and clinked their glasses. Alex could feel that it was time to stop with the champagne.

“John,” he carefully started, “about your father…”

“Alexander.” John sighed. “You’re not going to let it go, are you? (Alexander shaked his head.) My father is Senator. Most importantly, he is an asshole who disowned me when I came out. That’s basically all there is to know about it. Now, can we just drink to your new job?”

Alex nodded. He didn’t need to learn much more than that. He knew how sometimes you just wanted to let the past behind and never look back. He took John’s free hand in his and kissed his cheek.

“Nice to see you are adopting the French customs,  _ mon cher _ ”, said Lafayette as he came over and hugged Alex. “Congratulations on the job. George is very fond of you, it seems.” He toasted with them and took a sip. You could tell he was slowly working his way to sloshed. 

“Lafayette,” John’s voice dropped to a whisper, “is it serious between you and the President?”

Lafayette made sure no one was around and huddled closer to them. “I think it is, John”, he said with twinkling eyes. “I think it is. God,  _ je crois que je l’aime _ . This is terribly cheesy and wrong, he is the President but there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him,  _ tu vois _ ?”

“Will you ever go public?” asked Alex. 

The Frenchman shrugged. “I don’t see how we could do that. George used to be married to a woman before he got the Office. I don’t think he is ready to come out, actually. It’s okay. I’m satisfied.”

Someone called Lafayette’s name. He bid them goodbye and walked to the small group of French officials. The private presidential dinner was about to start. Late, as usual. It was time for them to go home.

 

 

The ride back in the limo seemed to last a second and forever at the same time. That may have been because, emboldened by the champagne and tinted windows, Alex had climbed on John’s lap and had untied his bow to suck a sizable hickey at his neck. John had left his head fall back, exposing his throat, his hands roaming Alex’s thighs and palming at his ass more than his fair share. Not that Alex minded. Not when John was pulling him closer to his body and he could feel his hips grinding in almost-imperceptible thrusts against him. Alex bit a little harder at his neck and felt more than heard the low growl John let out. He grinned against his throat. John tugged on his hair, tilting his face up to his, and kissed him urgently, desperately. He nipped at Alex’s lower lip and used his tongue to soothe the sting, Alex’s breath hitching. That’s when the car stopped in front of Alex’s appartment.

They ran upstairs and almost kicked open the door. Alexander barely had time to read the note pinned to Hercules’ door (“ _ Out for drinks with Eliza and Peggy. Don’t wait up. Use protection. H _ ”) before John slammed him against the door and slid a leg between his. His surprised yelp was quickly silenced by John’s lips on his. Alex quickly took John’s suit jacket off his shoulders, then his bowtie, popped his shirt open in a swift motion, and finally was able to run his hands down John’s torso, the fine skin over his ribs, the freckly expanse of his shoulders where he planted kisses as his thumb ghosted over a nipple. He felt two hands firmly grasp at his ass and pull up; he locked his legs around John’s waist as he carried him to Alex’s bedroom.

They fell down on the bed, John on top of Alex, who still had his legs around him, pulling him impossibly closer. John fumbled with Alex’s bowtie, took his shirt and jacket off at the same time, leaving them in a pile on the floor, busy as he was trailing wet hot kisses down Alex’s torso, before sliding a hand right between the skin and the waist of his pants. He popped open the button and palmed at Alex’s erection through the cotton of his boxers. Alex let out a hiss and lifted his legs so John could take his pants off; which the other man gladly did, taking the opportunity to run his hands over Alex’s thighs before getting out of his own pants. He settled between Alex’s legs and started nipping at his jawline, pressing his erection against the other man’s.

Alex’s hand dropped from John’s hair where he had tangled his fingers to John’s boxers, getting them down along with his own, taking both cocks in his hand. John gripped harder at his hip, not hard enough to bruise, still hard enough to make Alex feel  _ needed _ ,  _ wanted _ , before thrusting in his hand, almost unvoluntarily, a reflex, a need. “Top drawer of my nightstand,” muttered Alex. John reached for the drawer, pulling out lube and a condom. John’s breathing was ragged. Alex loved it, the messy curls tumbling out of his ponytail, the dark hickey blossoming on his tan skin, the wide eyes lit with fire. He loved everything John Laurens was. And he loved that he was  _ his _ .

“Do you want me to…” asked John.

“So help me God, John, put on that condom before I start begging.”

John raised an eyebrow and appeared to consider it. Alex bit at his shoulder. John laughed as he rolled on his back, opening the condom wrapper and putting it on. Alex straddled him, turning his laughter into a gasp. John put a hand on the small of his back and scooted backwards so he could lean his back against the wall, Alex still in his lap. He reached out for the lube bottle, and Alex’s breath caught in his throat as John kissed his torso, gently, right below the collarbone, nuzzling at the hot skin. He felt a finger nudge at his hole, the cold feel of lube igniting his body, and moaned as it felt it enter. He framed John’s face with his hands and kissed his forehead, his cheekbone, anywhere really, as a second finger joined the first, scissoring gently, loosening the tight ring of muscle.

“I’m not gonna break, John,” he breathed against the other man’s ear. He hissed as John pulled out his fingers, mourning for a second the sensation; until he felt the head of John’s cock push slowly at his entrance. John’s mouth locked with his, swallowing his whine, as he continued to push in, excruciatingly slow, until he was fully in. Alex felt like he could die, right this instant, and be at peace. He opened his eyes, that he hadn’t realized he had closed. John was looking at him like he was the world’s eighth wonder. He pushed a few stray strands of hair off Alexander’s forehead. “You look so beautiful like that, baby girl”, he said in a breath, and damn if Alex didn’t come from that alone. It must have shown, because John started thrusting up as he wrapped his hand around Alex’s cock, flush against their stomachs. Alex let out a sob and rested his forehead against John’s, who amplified his hip movements in time with his hand jerking. He could feel he was close, and if Alex’s gasps were anything to go by, so was he. “Alex, if we don’t slow down, I…” he tried to say, but Alex answered “Don’t stop, John, don’t ever stop”, and John’s brain just took a leave of absence. His thrusts became more erratic, Alex’s moans became cries, and when he felt Alex come, shooting hot and sticky on both their stomachs, well, he knew he was a goner and stifled a loud groan in Alex’s shoulder as he came hard, seeing stars and in the center, Alex, always, Alex.

When he came down from his high, Alex was getting off his lap with a wince. He took off the condom and tied it, throwing it in the trash. John reached for tissues, and cleaned up both their stomachs. No words were said. No words were needed. Only lovestruck smiles, hands that could not seem to be able to stop touching each other, eyes that said what their lips couldn’t. They fell asleep fast, Alex in John’s arms.

 

 

* * *

From : Angel-ica

12 Missed Calls

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

23 Missed Calls

* * *

 

On Sunday morning, Alex opened his eyes with a groan. He could hear voices coming from the living room. One, slow and soothing, was Hercules’. It was the same tone he used when facing an agressive dog in the street, which was strange; then he heard the second voice, a panicked mess of French and English, rising in volume by the second. 

John stirred next to Alex. “Is that Lafayette? What time is it?” 

Alex shrugged and looked at his phone, abandoned on the floor during last night’s antics. “Shit,” he hissed. He quickly got some sweatpants on; John had caught up and just put on his boxers before following Alex out of the room.

Lafayette was on the couch, head between his knees as if he was about to puke, still in his navy tuxedo, the bow untied and hanging from his breast pocket. Hercules was patting his back, handing him a mug full of what seemed like hot tea. Lafayette raised his head when he heard Alex and John’s footsteps.

“ _ Tu réponds jamais à ton portable, putain? _ ” he yelled.

“ _ Pardon? _ ” said an astounded Alex. Hercules pointed at the TV, which was on mute.

The news channel was on. Alex didn’t even check which one it was, because the only think he could see was the picture of George Washington’s hand on a navy tuxedo’s back that was unmistakably the one in which Lafayette was now dry-heaving. A banner scrolled under the picture : “Scandal at the White House : the President’s French Affair”.

 

The car ride to the White House was quick, especially as Lafayette had spared no expense and two cops accompanied the sleek black car, making sure the traffic let them through easily. It was silent, too. Lafayette’s phone kept buzzing, and he had switched it off before throwing it, barely missing the open window. Alex was reminded of how he had thought Lafayette would be able to tear Jefferson’s head with a smile. But he could sense as much fear in the Frenchman as he felt anger.

When they arrived at the White House, Lafayette walked the stairs two by two to the Oval Office, Alex in tow. Angelica was waiting by the door, silent. She squeezed Alex’s hand - did he look that lost? They got in the Office. There stood Vice President Von Steuben, Secretary of State Greene, and, of course, George Washington, looking out the window. Lafayette crossed the room in a few strides and approached Washington, gently putting his hand on his forearm. Washington turned to him and took his hand in his with a sigh, their fingers intertwining. The French diplomat swallowed a few tears and let his forehead rest against the President’s shoulder for a second. Everyone was silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> je crois que je l'aime = I think I love him  
> tu réponds jamais à ton portable, putain = why the fuck don't you ever answer your phone
> 
> the moral of this chapter is: use protection, and don't start international scandals.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all !  
> Holy guacamole. The last chapter got an overwhelming reaction. Everyone was sad for Laf. I am so sorry. I crushed my baby.  
> It was a very intense chapter to write, to tell the truth. Like, stay-awake-at-night intense. Politically, I weighed every option. THAT'S WHY I DROPPED MY LAW STUDIES YEARS AGO.  
> Thanks to Elisa for bearing with me and telling me to stop working with Satan, but hey, only securing my place in Hell.
> 
> I spent two days in a Burr fashion : *forced smile* honestly it's kinda draining

It was, actually, a pretty poignant sight. Lafayette, his hair a mess from running his hands through it with worry, leaning against George Washington, who was clinging to his hand so hard his knuckles were turning white. Nobody talked. They knew fully well they would have to face the storm soon enough; but for now, let them enjoy a moment of peace.

The silence was broken by Von Steuben, who sighed as he sat on one of the couches. He was soon joined by Greene, who sat next to him; Angelica, phone in hand, was keeping an eye on social media, biting her lip. Washington turned to Lafayette, putting his free hand at the base of the other man’s neck, and kissed his forehead; Alex averted his eyes. It felt intimate, somehow.

The couple walked to the free couch and sat, still holding hands. Alex felt out of place, to be honest; but Lafayette’s eyes searched the room for him, and he patted the cushion next to him, so Alex sat on his side. Angelica had disappeared. Everyone looked tired : it was actually the first time Alex saw the State Secretary not wear a tie; everyone had probably been called on a short notice, just like he had, and rushed here. 

Five minutes of heavy silence later, Angelica reappeared, carrying styrofoam cups Alex was familiar with. She was the first one to talk. “I texted my sister, I thought we could all use some coffee,” she said as she handed out the cups before sitting next to Greene. His hands around the steaming cup, Alex felt the room grow warmer somehow. 

The Vice President was next to speak. “I wish you’d told me, George.”

The President sighed and ran a hand over his face. “This is not something I’d exactly come to terms with, Friedrich.”

“How long as it been going on?” asked Greene.

“Six months,” muttered Lafayette. “We decided to put an end to it in May when I went back to France, but when I came back I couldn’t help myself.  _ Oh mon dieu. Tout est de ma faute _ .”

“This is not your fault, Gilbert,” said Washington as he ran a soothing hand down Lafayette’s thigh. “I was more than willing.”

“Mr President,” ventured Greene, “your position of power over the French ambassador will no doubt come as a tremendous scandal. Not to mention the important commercial agreement we just signed. The French team has not been informed yet, although I called the French Department for Foreign Affairs so they can keep an eye on the situation over there.”

“They are going to call for my resignation,” panicked Lafayette, hunching forward as if, once again, he was about to vomit. Alex ran a hand down his back. “I am going to have to go back to fucking France.”

Washington didn’t look that well, either, really.

“Fox News is having a field day, Mr President, sir,” said Angelica. “You are going to have to make a statement soon, if I may.”

“We don’t have many choices,” muttered the President. “Deny, or confirm.”

“We could argue that the gest depicted in the picture was purely friendly in a diplomatic setting,” tried Greene.

“Honestly, Nathanael,”, huffed Von Steuben, “if it’d been a hand on the shoulder, I’m not saying, but this is too big a bet. This is not a merely polite gesture. The press are undoubtedly looking at all the candids they took that night for any sign of affection between the Marquis and the President (Angelica nodded). We’d have to come up with something better.”

“I can deny,” whispered Lafayette. “I will go back to France. Put the blame on me. I’ll say I tried to seduce you to get what I wanted. Confess to anything.”

“You will do no such thing.” Washington got up. “You are not going back to France, or so help me, I will go and get you back by the scruff of your neck if I have to.” He started pacing. “Miss Schuyler, please call Press Secretary Tilghman. Alert the media. I will give a brief statement at 2pm this afternoon. Nathanael, please get a hold of the French President and his staff. I want them there by midday. Friedrich, please inform the Cabinet. Alexander, please take Gilbert home and make sure he gets ready for the statement. You’re the closest friend he’s got, and for the love of God, do NOT get on Twitter.”

“George…?” asked Von Steuben.

Washington took in a deep breath. “I am not going to lie to the people. It’s time to face the facts. I love Gilbert (Alexander heard Lafayette choke on his coffee) and I am not hiding anymore. Homosexuality is not a criminal offense.”

“They will call for your impeachment for abuse of power, Mr President,” whispered Greene.

“Let them try.”

 

* * *

 

To : Curls

Going to Lafayette’s appartment

 

From : Curls

Do you want us to meet you there

 

To : Curls

That would be nice. I don’t know the adress

 

From : Curls

Herc does. Meet you there.

* * *

 

Alex didn’t even want to know how Hercules got Lafayette’s info. All he cared about was the Frenchman holding his hand in the car taking them to his place, his breathing slow and ragged. He hadn’t said a word since they had gotten out of the Oval Office and Washington had finally let go of his hand, kissing him briefly before hurrying to his desk, calling Hanson to talk about the speech he had to deliver.

They finally got to Lafayette’s appartment complex, featuring a real-life doorman. “Good morning, Monsieur de Lafayette, sir,” he said. “Good morning, Andrew. Two of my friends should arrive in a few,  _ Messieurs  _ Laurens and Mulligan. Please let them up,” answered Lafayette quickly. “Sir, if I may,” added the doorman, “journalists have been wandering around the place all morning. I’d keep your blinds closed if I were you.” Lafayette thanked him and rushed Alexander in the building, to the elevator, and the 12th and last floor. He unlocked the door and let Alex in.

Alex looked around. The place was tastefully decorated, but absolutely impersonal. No pictures, no mess, no useless trinkets sitting around, not even the dirty mugs that usually stayed a week on the desk in any appartment he’d ever been in. Lafayette didn’t seem very invested in this place. 

“Make yourself at home”, said Lafayette. “I’m going to take a shower. The kitchen should be stocked.”

 

Alex walked to the kitchen, the sound of the shower turning on in the background, when he heard a tap at the door. He looked through the peephole and opened the door to Hercules and John. John kissed Alex gently before taking his hand and asking “How is he?”

“He’s in the shower right now. The President is giving a statement at 2pm and he wants him there. He told me to take care of him”.

“That’s a fucking mess they got themselves in,” said Hercules. “The news channels just won’t stop speculating. They pulled out all the photos where they can be seen together and are over-analyzing them like mad. Have they decided what they are going to do?”

“The President is going to confirm. He won’t lie to the people. Greene fears he risks impeachment for abuse of power. I am not sure that’s likely, but there will be an inquiry for sure. Washington said he loved Lafayette.”

They heard what sounded suspiciously like a sob. Hercules turned around and went to the bathroom, coming in and closing the door.

John looked at his watch. “That leaves us two hours before you have to head for the White House. Let’s cook something to eat.”

They walked to the impeccable kitchen and Alex opened the fridge, frowning. “John, I am shit at cooking.” John laughed and pulled out a carton of eggs and bacon. 

“I don’t know about you, but we haven’t had breakfast yet,” he smiled. He got to work cooking while Alex sat on the countertop.

“It was so awkward, John. Laf was crying and the President looked so tired and I didn’t know what to do. Lafayette wanted him to deny, he wanted to take the blame and resign and go back to France, but the President just wouldn’t have it. They are up shit’s creek, honestly. This would be the first time a President came out, and because of a scandal? But it’s the best thing to do, really. There is no way this picture was casual. This is a strong message, the President coming out. If he’d denied it, it would have been worse. He would have been shunned by both the LGBT community for not showing the way and by the others who would still view him as a closet homosexual. At least he is being honest.”

John nodded as he scrambled eggs. Hercules and Lafayette got out of the bathroom, the latter wearing a towel around his hips, his untied curls slowly drying. His eyes were red and puffy. John set a plate of bacon and eggs in front of each one of them as they sat at the breakfast bar, except for Alex, still perched on the countertop next to the fridge.

“Lafayette, I’m…” started John.

“ _ Il a dit qu’il m’aimait _ ”, hiccuped Lafayette. “ _ Il l’a dit et j’ai pas répondu. Putain. _ ”

“I think he is going into shock”, said Hercules. “Eat, Laf. It will do you good.”

Once their plates were cleared, Hercules took Lafayette to his room to help him into a fresh suit. They walked out pretty quickly, Lafayette in a clean black suit, his hair pulled up. “We better go,” he told Alex. “I have to be there. John, Hercules, if you’d please stay here, you can watch the statement on TV. If you decide to go, tell Andrew, he’ll call a cab on me.” Alexander kissed John on the cheek, who patted his arm, mouthing “it’ll be okay”. 

When they got to the lobby, Andrew was there. “Monsieur de Lafayette, there are a lot of journalists. Your car is waiting out back. I recommend you take the back door.” Lafayette thanked him profusely as he took Alex by the arm and, putting sunglasses on, dragged him through a storage room to a door. There were still journalists, but still less than there were in front of the building. They made their way to the car, ignoring questions, and got in, the car leaving immediately for the White House.

  
  


When they got to the West Wing, Angelica was there once again, waiting for them, and led the way to the Roosevelt Room. There stood the same people they’d met earlier, only with the addition of Press Secretary Tilghman, French Président Bourbon and his wife, and French Prime Minister Vergennes. The room fell silent when they entered. Lafayette stood straighter, and walked straight to the free seat at the right side of Washington. Alex and Angelica stayed standing to the side.

Vergennes didn’t waste any time. “Gilbert, you are going to have to resign.”

Von Steuben nodded. “If we’re going to make this public, we also have to make sure your professional relationship is not questionable.”

Lafayette nodded. “You’ll have my resignation letter on your desk by tomorrow morning, Charles,” he told Vergennes. He turned to Washington and his voice softened. “George, you can still deny. Say it was my fault. I won’t complain.”

Washington took his hand across the table. “I made my decision, Gilbert. This is happening. What kind of person would I be, having fought to make gay marriage legal in all 50 states, then hiding when so many do and shouldn’t have to?”

Lafayette squeezed at his hand hard, and smiled. It was the first genuine smile Alex had seen on him since the gala.

Tilghman coughed lightly. “Sir, the press will be here in ten.”

“Very well,” nodded Washington. “Miss Schuyler? What are the opinions so far?”

Angelica stopped biting at her lip. “Divided, Mr President. The conservatives are going crazy, as you would expect. I would expect some tumultuous protests after coming out, sir. As for the others, well. They do not care that much and don’t see what that has to do with your leadership of the country and what the fuss is about.”

America, thought Alex. The land of the free. If you were white, heterosexual and Christian, that is. His glorious military past had helped Washington tremendously in his campagn, although as a black man, he’d had a lot of shit thrown at him; but this was another battle entirely. 

Greene looked at the clock. “Well, ladies and gentleman, it’s showtime.”

Tilghman was the first to go and walk to the Press Briefing Room to greet the press. Everyone got up and slowly made their way to wait in the next room, Lafayette’s hand still in Washington’s.

“Mr President,” said Angelica, “I recommend that you go alone on that podium for the speech. Lafayette can join you afterwards, for the photos. Please, Lafayette, no inappropriate gestures. No kissing. This is not the moment. We’ve got to be careful about all of this. It’s an unprecedented situation.”

“Of course, Miss Schuyler. Thank you.” Washington took Lafayette in his arms, briefly, and walked to the side, waiting for Tilghman to finish his introduction. He turned to Lafayette. “Will you stay here, where I can see you?” Alex felt his chest tighten. He looked so vulnerable, all of a sudden. 

“I’ll be there, George. I love you,” said Lafayette with a smile. Washington’s expression went from shock to delight, and then his name was called, and he stepped onto the podium. Lafayette took Alex by the arm and they took Washington’s initial place, close enough that Washington could see them from the corner of his eye, but not enough that the press could spot them. 

“You finally told him you loved him,” said Alexander.

“Yes. I guess it’s you who’ll have to provide me with a wheelchair tomorrow.”

Alexander forced himself not to groan. Lafayette was back.

 

 

Washington waited for the flashes to stop.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I realize this meeting was announced at a very short notice, and would like to thank both my staff and yourselves for your diligence. 

A picture was taken, last night, at a diplomatic event hosted in this very House for the benefit of Président Bourbon and decades of Franco-American alliance. This picture shows myself, indulging in what I believe the media called “a tender gesture” to the French ambassador, Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette. Many speculations have been circulating, and I have no doubt I can call on any of you to supply me with pictures, shall I decide to put together a souvenir album. ( _ There were a few laughs from the assistance. _ )

When confronted to the publication of this picture, I was faced with two choices : denial, or confirmation. Although denial would have been easier, I believe being a good liar is not the reason so many of our American citizens entrusted me with my position as President of the United States.

I have always been, in the military in the service of our country, as in my position now, an honest man. I cannot, in all conscience, advocate for equal rights and the LGBT community as I did, campaign for every person to accept themselves as who they are and take pride in their identity, and hide myself. Never have I better appreciated what any of them must have gone through, on this day.

This is why I come to you today, as a proud bisexual man. ( _ Flashes were blinding for a minute. He waited patiently _ .) For the last six months, Monsieur de Lafayette and myself have seen each other through any hardship any couple has to be put through. For those who may wonder, this in no case calls into question the life and love I had with my past wife; if anything, it is comparable, maybe even stronger.

It is time for us all to accept who we are. It is time for us all to be able to discern personal lives and public lives. I have no doubt my skills as leader of this nation will be questioned by some. You trusted me when you elected me, and I do not see why that has to change.

This statement was only spurred by my will to be as honest with you as I swore I would be on the day of my investiture. I know I can count on you all to help make America a place where anybody, of all race, gender, sexual orientation, a place where they are not afraid. Thank you all.”

He extended a hand and Lafayette stepped into the light. The light of the flashes was blinding. He walked to Washington, who put a careful arm around his waist, very gently. There was no way their smiles could be mistaken for publicity.

 

* * *

From : Curls

Holy shit that was intense

 

To : Curls

I am going home. Laf is staying with Washington

 

From : Curls

We’re back at your place. Twitter is blowing up. Your neighbour hung a Pride flag next to the American one but I think the lady across the street is crying

 

To : Curls

I think I need a stiff drink

 

From : Curls

I’ll give you a stiff one alright. Come home baby girl

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh mon Dieu. Tout est de ma faute = Oh my god, this is all my fault  
> Il a dit qu'il m'aimait = he said he loved me  
> Il l'a dit et j'ai pas répondu, putain = he said it and I didn't fucking answer
> 
>  
> 
> I AM SO TIRED. Please do not hate me.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ! Wow, last chapter was crazy.  
> I tried to write as light as I could. I think I needed it. Maybe you did too.  
> In any case, thank you Elisa for beta reading and spotting all my silly references !

Alex opened the door to his appartment, stopping for a moment and taking a slow, long breath. He could hear John yell at Hercules playfully - was that Mario Kart on the TV? He could smell the familiar scent of the lavender pouches Hercules liked to carefully scatter through the place, and the faint smell of what was probably chili on the stove. After that hectic day, that was all Alexander wanted and needed.

“Hey, Alex ! Welcome home !” greeted John with a smile that outshone the moon outside.

And, yes, Alex truly felt home at that moment.

 

“Mulligan is kicking my ass on Rainbow Road”, complained John as Alex sat on the couch next to him. “I am pretty sure he rigged the game.”

“I’m just better than you, Laurens. I am offended that you ever doubted that.” Hercules launched a blue shell at John, who was second and fell back to fifth with a groan. “How was your day, honey?”

It took Alex a minute to understand that he was talking to him. “Well, you saw it happen live on television. We are now best friends with the nation’s First Gentleman.”

“Is that really the designated term?” asked John with a frown. He was having a hard time overtaking Peach. 

“I have no idea. I looked it up on Google in the car and that’s what I found,” shrugged Alex. “I need a beer. Anyone?”

He waited for the two affirmative groans and went to the fridge, not bothering with glasses. He uncapped the bottles and set them on the coffee table, sitting on the floor between John’s legs. “You are terrible at Mario Kart,” he told him as he handed him a bottle.

“Thanks, Alex. This is exactly the support I need,” said John. Hercules chuckled and took a sip at his beer; he’d finished the race for a good thirty seconds now. John crossed the line and a big insulting “4TH” flashed on his half of the screen. He dropped the controller on Alex’s lap. “You’re on, Hamilton. I can’t take the shame.”

“I will avenge you,” swore Alex as he picked Toad. Hercules snorted (“you are ridiculous”) and the game was on.

Alex sighed as John idly wound his fingers through his hair and started lightly massaging at his scalp and gently tugging at his hair. It felt great, but distracting from the game for which his honor and John’s were at play. It somehow all seemed very trivial when John ran his hand low on his skull and let his fingernails scrape softly right behind his ear, putting a wild strand of hair back. Alex let his head fall back against John’s knee as a red shell bumped him into a river. 

“This is not even a challenge”, groaned Hercules, crossing the finish line, as he let his controller fall on the couch next to him. “I should have known Laurens would take up all your attention. You losers cuddle while I make sure the chili doesn’t overcook.” He walked to the kitchen, downing the last of his beer.

 

Alex turned to John, while still on the floor. He raised to his knees and sprawled himself across John’s thighs, wounding his arms around John’s waist, his mouth conveniently level with his crotch. Alex felt John’s cock start to stand to attention. He smiled against the fabric, making sure from the corner of his eye that Hercules was still whistling by the stove, and mouthed at the bulge in John’s pants. John hissed, his hips thrusting forward just the slightest bit; he grabbed a handful of Alex’s hair and slowly tilted his head up. Alex reveled in the sight of his boyfriends, cheeks tainted red, pupils blown. John bent forward to kiss Alex’s cheekbone tenderly. “You’ve had a rough day, baby girl. Tonight is all about you.” Alex shivered. Mulligan called them to dinner. It was awkward sitting at the table with a raging boner, but he had to make do.

 

The day had been long. If anything, it had taught to Alexander how things can turn to shit in a few hours. But he could feel the tension drain away, cuddled on the couch against John, a hot cup of cocoa in his hands while Hugh Grant was kissing Andie MacDowell on the screen. He was a sucker for a good romcom, but like hell was he ever going to say it out loud, cracking jokes to John who had been wiping a tear or two at the funeral speech. Hercules was idly knitting, eyes trained on the screen. The credits rolled out and John kissed the top of Alex’s head, sighing contentedly. 

“Alright,” he said as Alex drank what was left of his cocoa, “we’ve all got work tomorrow. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll follow in a minute,” said Alex as he got up to put his mug away in the sink. John disappeared in his (their?) room. Alex walked to Hercules and set his hands on the other man’s shoulders, standing behind the couch. “Have you gotten word from Lafayette?”

“I believe he may be busy,” smirked Hercules. “It was a pretty nerve-wracking day for him. He sent John and I a text to thank us for supporting him while you were coming home, but that’s it.”

“I’ll text him tomorrow,” decided Alex. Hercules nodded. Alex patted his shoulder and bid him goodnight, closing the room to his door behind him.

 

 

“What time do you start to…” his voice squeaked on the last word. And for good reason.

John was waiting for him on the bed, lying on his belly, and what a sight to behold, he was naked and his tan skin glowed in the dim light of the moon, shining through the open window in the dry warmth of the end of summer. His smile was a Chesire grin against his face, and his curls tumbled around his shoulders. Alex thanked all the gods he could think of, for good measure, threw in a prayer or two to science and Beyoncé because you never know, and took off his clothes in record time. He almost threw himself on the bed, to John’s laughter. 

“Calm down, Alex”, said John, his eyes twinkling. “We’ve got time. It’s not the first time anymore.”

Alex feigned offense. “Do you have anything to say about my performance last night, John? I’ll let you know that the average intercourse time is 12 minutes. Considering I hadn’t touched anyone in  _ months _ , I think it was perfectly reasonable, not to mention your body, which, like, whoa.”

“Yes, please give me more scientific facts about intercourse,” moaned John.

Alex knew it was a joke, but his dick still started bobbing up. John’s eyes widened and he literally giggled (Alex found it endearing. Damn. Was he turning into Hugh Grant? Was he about to speak in a posh accent?) and scooted closer to him, pushing his shoulder slightly so Alex was on his back. He straddled him, making himself comfortable; apparently, the only way to do so was if their cocks were flush against each other. John leant over Alex, kissing just below his ear, where the neck met the jawline, where he smelt so good and so  _ him _ , so  _ Alex _ it hurt to kiss his way down his neck and to the dip at the base of his neck. Alex moaned as he ran his fingers over John’s curls. He felt John smile against his skin, hands flying to Alexander’s waist, applying just the right amount of pressure to his worn body that if felt anew. John’s teeth caught on a nipple, drawing a sharp breath, soothing the pinch with a lick and Alex felt on fire. John ran his thumb over the taut skin over his navel and kissed and nuzzled at it until Alex felt like putty in his hands. Clasping his hands on each side of John’s face, Alex pulled him up until their face were level and kissed him, leisurely, slowly, tenderly, the kiss of two men in love who can’t quite put words on it yet. 

He hadn’t even realized his hips had started thrusting against John’s, their cocks rubbing between their stomachs, their rythm lazy, heat pooling more in more in each of their bellies. He could hear John panting against his ear, gripping tight at Alex’s hip. Alex’s hand went to John’s ass, pressing tight, adding friction, until finally,  _ finally _ , it became too much, his muscles tensed up, and he came on their stomachs, shivering in the heat, and John couldn’t anymore and Alex kissed his closed eyelids and his cheekbone and he let go and he was falling, falling, off the edge, and probably further in love, too.

They stayed that way for maybe two minutes, their hearts beating against each other, their breaths aligning on the other’s. “Holy shit”, said John. “That was intense. I did not expect that.”

“What were you expecting? Rain and Ryan Gosling?” smirked Alex good-naturedly.

“No, but I did get fireworks,” wondered John with a dreamy smile, peeking Alex on the lips before getting up and grabbing a handful of tissues to clean their messy stomachs.

  
  


 

They left the appartment on Monday morning to take the same bus, weirdly domestic already. John’s stop to the coffee shop was before Alex’s, but Alexander didn’t hesitate a second in stopping with him, leaving him at the coffee shop, kissing him goodbye, and making his way to the White House.

Now, Alexander Hamilton was a clever man, but in some aspects of life, he could appear to be quite slow, and rightfully so.

* * *

 

To : Hunkules Mulligan

I think I’m in love with John ?!

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

Should I even gratify that with an answer

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

I call dibs on being the flower girl

* * *

 

To : Curls

What did you mean by “fireworks” last night

 

To : Curls

Because I felt them too

 

From : Curls

You are the slowest man I know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOOK AT THE FIREWORKS  
> I hope this soothed the pain of the angst.  
> As always, your kudos and comments mean everything to me. Like seriously. I wish I could take you all out to dinner.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys ! Thanks for your kudos and comments, especially those who sent me messages on Tumblr, you are incredible.  
> Thanking (you guessed it) my trash sister Elisa, for the support and being just an amazing person in general.  
> Can you tell I'm still healing from the angst that was Chapter 10? Because I am.

To : Baguette Kisser

What are you doing

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Getting briefed by Angelica on what I can and can’t say

 

From : Baguette Kisser

She is banning 90% of my personality

* * *

 

From : Angel-ica

Alexander I am trying to brief Lafayette stop texting him

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

This sucks ass I can’t even be my lovely self anymore

 

From : Baguette Kisser

What use is there being French if I can’t charm the pants off you all

 

To : Baguette Kisser

Can you even hang out with us commoners anymore

* * *

 

From : Angel-ica

Alexander for fuck’s sake stop!!

* * *

 

To : Baguette Kisser

Angelica is swearing at me

 

From : Baguette Kisser

As First Lady I can totally fire her now

* * *

 

“Turns out, I can’t fire anyone, and Angelica says I can’t call myself the First Lady,” said Lafayette as he burst in Alex’s office after lunch, Jefferson getting up, startled. “People part when I walk in the hallway and I am pretty sure someone handed me a small child to bless when I stopped to get coffee from Peggy this morning.”

“Be grateful Angelica confiscated your Twitter access. I’ve seen some nasty shit on it,” groaned Alex. “People are pissed. I am not even talking about POTUS’ account because we’ve had to put a filter on a variety of swear words I had no idea even existed.”

Jefferson walked to Lafayette and extended his hand. “ _ Félicitations, mon ami _ ! It took a lot of courage to do what you and Mr Président did.”

“Stop licking federal ass, Jefferson,” snickered Alex. “This is apparently a presidential prerogative now.”

Lafayette smiled extatically and Jefferson blushed. “You are terrible, Hamilton. Not to mention extremely rude to Monsieur de Lafayette.”

“You know what, Jefferson?” Alex got up and leant forward as if reveling a great secret. “I’ve seen Lafayette naked so I think we’re past that. And if you think even mentioning ass-licking is rude, I feel sorry for poor Jimmy Madison at home.”

Jefferson slammed the door on his way out. Lafayette looked at the closed door and wondered aloud “I think he is pissed because you saw me naked and he hasn’t.”

“A true loss for all,” said Alex as he sat back down.

“I can fix that, if that’s what the nation wants,” offered Lafayette.

“God, no,” winced Alexander. “You’ve done enough without you leaking nudes. Although I am sure you think they would distract ISIS enough to stop the war, I have enough on my plate trying to sort out which threats to the President are real and deserve to be sent to the CIA and which come from frustrated Republicans who just get to shoot their load on social media.”

“Nice,” remarked Lafayette. “I am unable to come and go as I want, people want to cut my head off like we did to our king back then or think I can cure the diseased, and now I can’t leak nudes.”

“Can you still come to our place or is that out of bounds?”

“Please, God. I miss Hercules already. ( _ He hadn’t seen him since the day before _ , thought Alex.  _ This was ridiculous _ .) I am just not allowed to not be accompanied by a bodyguard, which is not only eye-candy, honestly, George should have thought about it twice, but also super useful if I want to kill someone or don’t want to get up to get the remote.”

“I am sure that’s the intended purpose.”

 

* * *

 

From : Curls

Can I come to your place

 

To : Curls

As if you had to ask

 

To : Curls

Lafayette is coming over with his bodyguard you don’t want to miss that

 

From : Curls

Do you have ice packs

 

To : Curls

I’m sorry what

 

From : Curls

I got in a fist fight on the bus home

* * *

 

Alexander didn’t even wait for John to come up the stairs, he opened his door and ran down the steps as soon as he spotted him from the window walking to the building. He winced sympathetically when he saw John’s face.

His lip was split and a purple bruise was slowly blossoming from his right eye to his cheekbone; his shirt collar was ripped. Alex kissed his other cheekbone carefully and took John’s hand, leading him to the appartment and sitting him down on the couch. 

Hercules had already gotten an ice pack ready along with a towel and a basin of warm water. 

“You should have seen the other guys,” said John, emphasizing the plural (or maybe he was just hissing at the pain of speaking with his split lip) as Alex sat by his side, reaching for the wet towel and turning to face him. 

“I’m sure they are at the morgue already, babe,” nodded Alex as he dabbed at the blood down John’s chin.

“They were massive. Giants.” continued John.

“Okay, honey,” laughed Hercules. “I am pretty sure you have a concussion, or those guys were regular-size and you are too used to Hamilton here.”

“Thanks, Mulligan,” groaned Alex as he checked John’s head for additional cut or bruises hidden in the curls. “John, what happened?”

John grimaced as he got out of his shirt so Herc could examine the torn collar, and Alex let his hand ghost over a fresh fist-shaped mark on John’s ribs. 

Apparently, John had been riding the bus to his own place after work when he’d heard a guy behind him talk shit about “the homo President and his new fucktoy”. After a day of customers trying to give him their opinion on the fresh news, John’s blood had turned to fire and told “Lee” to “mind his own business and maybe get some butt action for himself”. Lee had not taken well to the friendly advice and told John that if that was his thing the President could maybe find a way to get John to service him. Long story short, John had punched the guy in the mouth and the driver had thrown them out of the bus where they had kept punching at each other until Lee had ran away. By then, John had figured he was actually closer to Alex and Hercules’ place and didn’t actually want to be alone that night.

So that was why John was holding an ice pack to his eye, lamenting dramatically as Alex felt at his ribs to check for any major damage (he didn’t exactly know how to do this. He’d watched House, but it was of surprisingly little practical help). 

“Do you want anything?” asked Alex as he kissed John’s bruised knuckles.

John let his head fall on the back of the couch. “Jack and Coke. Hold the Coke.”

“We don’t have whiskey and you know it.”

“I am a hero. I drink whiskey.”

“Okay, hero. You’ll have a beer.” Alex walked to the fridge as the doorbell rang. Hercules got up and opened the door for Lafayette and a tall, brooding man in a black suit.

“This is Robert, my bodyguard,” Lafayette said as he kissed Hercules on both cheeks. “I like to call him Bob.”

“Please, sir, don’t,” said Bob as he glanced at them all and started touring the appartment, looking in every nook and cranny. Alex raised an eyebrow when the man got to the kitchen where he was still standing, and handed him a beer bottle. “Not while in service, Mr Hamilton.”

“Whatever,  _ Bob _ ,” answered Alex as he took two bottles in each hand and closed the door with his foot.

“I’ll wait for you at the door, Monsieur de Lafayette, sir.” The bodyguard closed the door behind him.

“Was he worried we would try to kill you?” said Hercules with a frown that literally meant “I can take this scrawny boy any time”.

“I have no idea,” sighed Lafayette as he sat on the couch, taking the beer Alex was pushing his direction. “Thanks, Alex. Holy shit, John,  _ mon chéri _ , what happened to your gorgeous face?”

John repeated his story, except this time, Lee had turned into a 6’8 karate champion with a ninja companion. Lafayette nodded sagely, making frightened noise at all the right moments, even holding a hand to his heart when John told how he had jumped on Lee’s back and used his hair to control him and turn him against his sidekick.

“I can’t believe you defended my honor, John. I am forever grateful. Pizza is on me.” cooed Lafayette. 

 

As far as their usual evenings together went, this one was pretty mild. Lafayette was leaning on Hercules’ shoulder, feeding him slices of pizza, and Alex was doting on John who was playing the wounded warrior, while a movie was playing, one of those teen movies you could not pay attention to for twenty minutes and still not be lost in the plot. But it was relaxing, even if they were all a bit cramped on the couch, it felt cozy and it felt loving. Hercules was telling them about how he was making Eliza a new dress for her birthday and Lafayette acted falsely jealous, starting his sentences with “well, my boyfriend, the PRESIDENT of the United States, I don’t know if you’ve heard of him”, which made John crack up, wrinkling his nose adorably and Alex just cuddled against him and closed his eyes, prompting John to put his arm around him and hold him closer.

“I’ve never seen our  _ petit lion _ so calm,” remarked Lafayette.

“The last couple of days have been tiring”, smiled John.

“I wonder whose fault it is”, muttered Alex.

“Hopefully it will all get better soon enough. People will get over it. There are far more important issues than who the President is banging,” said Hercules.

“That’s why I’ve had so much work,” added Alexander. “Making sure we make your relationship relatable and gain the public’s approval. You’ve got a lot of charity galas and events to look forward too, Laf.”

“Yeah, Angelica told me as much.” Lafayette let his head fall on Hercules’ lap, who started lightly scratching at his hair. “Talking about charity, I asked her to leave our Friday night free. George and I want to invite you three for dinner at Mount Vernon. Well. It was my idea really. But I said to him, I said, “George,  _ mon amour _ , take me all you want, but you have to take the whole package and that means my friends too.”

“I am sure that sounded way better in your head, sweetheart,” frowned Hercules.

“Ah,  _ oui _ . But the point still stands and I’ll send a car here around 7.30pm. John, I called Peggy already, so don’t try to pretend that you can’t make it, I know you work the morning shift.”

Nobody said anything. Probably because they were still all processing that they were going to have dinner with the President, in an informal setting, four days from then, but then again, as Alex said out loud, at least they should be grateful Laf had let them know instead of just sending a car with no explanation at all.

 

After Laf had left, cheerfully telling Bob that “his affair was over and now back to my boyfriend, the President, have you heard of him”, Hercules went to bed, kissing John’s head and bidding them goodnight.

“Honestly,” grumbled Alex, “this appartment is turning into a damn foursome.”

John chuckled as he got up, leaving the melted ice pack on the coffee table. He threw his arms around Alex’s neck, who had gotten up too. “Come on, let’s go to bed. I need my beauty rest to fix this face.”

They went to sleep together, Alex lightly tracing John’s traits with his fingers, gushing about his “battle scars”. John, despite the busted lip, couldn’t stop grinning. This time, he was the one falling asleep on Alex’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Félicitations, mon ami = Congratulations, my friend
> 
> Aaaaaah and I'll try to update tomorrow. Dinner at Mount Vernon's is my Valentine's gift. From me to you.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day to all ! And if you don't have anyone to spend it with, let me tell you, it's even better alone with a bottle of wine and chocolates.  
> Thank you to Elisa : our sisterhood transcends frontiers and commercial holidays. 
> 
> So here it is, from me to you, your gift : Dinner at Mount Vernon.  
> For the sake of modernity, I adapted the house a bit. Like, the kitchen is where the old bedchamber was on the ground floor. Humor me.

To : Curls

What are we supposed to wear for a casual dinner with the leader of the free world?!

 

From : Curls

Heck if I know. A suit? Does he have a pool it’s still hot out

 

To : Curls

Do you want to get in a swim suit with POTUS??

 

From : Curls

Unfortunately Laf has shown me pics I have seen it all

* * *

 

To : Hunkules Mulligan

What are you wearing to POTUS’

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

Wear what you want, we’ll be lucky if Laf wears anything at all

* * *

 

To : Baguette Kisser

Are you wearing clothes tonight

* * *

 

From : Unknown Number

Please, Alexander. Do not encourage Gilbert. Just dress casual.

 

To : Unknown Number

Yes, Mr President.

* * *

 

John helped Alex into his button-up and tucked it into his pants before working on the buttons. They had experienced a short delay _(not that short_ , would say Alex, who had been on his knees a few minutes ago, his mouth way too full to complain), and it took John all the willpower in the world not to nip at Alex’s collarbone before throwing him on the bed and licking him open until he screamed, dinner with the President be damned. He kissed the corner of Alex’s lips, smoothing his hand down the shirt. Alexander looked great. Not too casual because apparently he just couldn’t show up to the President’s house in jeans, but great all the same. They walked out of the room, holding hands.

“The car is waiting for us downstairs,” said Hercules. “I don’t even want to know what you were doing, although I recommend one of you rinse his mouth. Let’s go.”

The ride to Mount Vernon was about an hour long, which gave them plenty of time to try and guess at what they should expect there. They’d all seen the pictures, so the speculation was not about the building.

“What if the President is wearing short shorts,” mused John.

“What if we interrupt them and the President is wearing Laf,” added Hercules.

“What if I throw myself out of this car and into the incoming traffic,” wondered Alex, clutching the bottle of wine he’d decided would be appropriate to bring as a gift.

 

 

The house was beautiful, thought Alex as the car screeched to a halt in front of the front porch. It was old, a family heirloom if he recalled correctly, but seemed pretty simple and welcoming. They walked up the few steps to the door, which swung open.

Lafayette stood there, beaming like they were the fricking Three Wise Men come to bless him or something, dressed in outrageously tight jeans and a tank top. They’d never seen him wear anything else than his work suit and Alex suddenly felt way too overdressed. George Washington himself appeared behind Lafayette, coming down the stairs, wearing his usual shirt and slacks; Alex sighed in relief (and could feel John’s disappointment at the lack of booty shorts).

“Welcome to Mount Vernon !” greeted Lafayette as he hugged John. “John, your eye is healing nicely. I told George how you’d fought for him and he thinks it’s unecessary but I am working on getting your face on a mountain.” He took the bottle of wine from Alex’s hands. “Alexander, you shouldn’t have.”

Washington sighed as he shook Alexander and John’s hands. “We’ve been public for a week and I am already more exhausted than in six months of relationship. I had no idea he was holding back.” He eyed Lafayette fondly as the man kissed Hercules on both cheeks with a giggle of delight. He frowned the slightest bit, then extended his hand to Hercules. “Mr Mulligan, I presume? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise, Mr President,” said Hercules as he firmly shook Washington’s hand.

Lafayette had already left for another room, wine in hand.

“It’s a beautiful house, sir,” complimented Alex as they walked in, admiring the wooden panels, Washington closing the door behind them.

“Thank you, son. It’s been in my family for ages.” A genuine smile appeared on Washington’s lips. “It used to be lonely when Martha left, but now Gilbert is certainly more than I bargained for.” As if on cue, they heard the clinking of glass, followed by a muffled “ _ah, putain_ ”. They followed Washington in a room with blue walls, couches, and a liquor cabinet, in front of which Lafayette was struggling to hold five glasses at once. As they sat on the couch, Washington rushed to Lafayette’s side, helping him set the glasses on the coffee table that was already loaded with snacks.

“What do you want to drink?” asked Lafayette with a happy smile as Washington guided him to the coffee table, a hand low on his back. “Name it and we’ve got it.”

Alex raised an eyebrow at John who smirked at the “we”. John asked for a whiskey, that Lafayette poured generously for his hero, Hercules said he would have anything Laf was having, and Alex was happy to spot a bottle of bourbon in the cabinet, to Washington’s pleasure. Lafayette got two glasses of wine for himself and Hercules, and sat on the floor to make sure Alex and George had the same amount of bourbon, although he was pretty heavy-handed on the quantities.

 

If Alex had been worried this would be awkward, he relaxed quickly. Lafayette was his usual self, and the domesticity he exuded when talking to “George” with a loving twinkle in his eyes, sat on the couch next to him, helped make them all comfortable.

“Shouldn’t you have security guards all around the place, sir?” asked John.

“Ah, some of them are upstairs, and some are outside. Gilbert made it pretty clear he didn’t want to see them. They are pretty terrified, actually,” smiled Washington.

“There is no way I am letting anyone with more muscle than I near George,” said Lafayette as he put a possessive hand on Washington’s thigh.

“I actually think they are terrified because half of them don’t have the same body as you, Gilbert.” beamed Washington, and Alex imagined it was how it felt to see your parents flirt because he wanted to die and puke at the same time while John just laughed like an idiot.

“I am pretty sure you could put them to shame, Laf. The first time I saw you naked I thought your body had been photoshopped”, grinned Hercules.

“I’m sorry, what”, spluttered Washington in the last of his bourbon.

Lafayette got up and clasped his hands. “Isn’t it dinner time? I think it is !” He took Washington’s hand in his and dragged him to the kitchen, across the hall. Hercules, John and Alex followed. Lafayette motioned for them to sit down at the elegantly dressed table, just asking them to leave the two seats by the kitchen free so he and Washington could move easily. The kitchen was open and significantly more modern-looking than the rest of the house, it had probably been renovated recently. Laf moved to the fridge as if he’d always been living here, taking the time to kiss Washington’s neck as the man was opening the bottle of wine Alexander had brought.

“Brace yourselves,” warned Washington as he poured the wine. “Gilbert cooked. It’s a French dinner. Please don’t feel obligated to eat everything.”

“Nonsense,” huffed Lafayette as he set plates of Caprese salad in front of every guest, slices of tomato artfully arranged against slices of mozzarella. “This is not even a French recipe. Be grateful my grandmother is dead, George, President of the United States or not, her dinners featured at least seven courses and you had to get second servings or she would guilt you to death.”

The conversation flowed in easily, John asking Washington about his years in the army, Alex, Hercules and Lafayette talking about the importance of representation in children’s media, until Alex confessed that the name for Hercules in his phone had been inspired by the Disney movie. Hercules laughed, and Lafayette sighed “I thought it was because you are hunky, honey”, letting a hand rest on Hercule’s forearm, causing George Washington to choke on his wine for the second time that night. He excused himself to go to the kitchen and stir a wooden spoon in the pot on the stove.

“Honestly, Laf, you are the worst”, chided Alexander.

“But it is so much fun”, whispered Lafayette with a wink, clearing the table. “Watch this.”

He walked to the kitchen, setting the plates down in the sink, and bent down to take new ones in one of the cabinets; he piled them next to the stove and asked “ _Mon amour_ , will you help me with the oven?” but Washington just grabbed him by the waist and pulled him into a deep, possessive kiss, Lafayette throwing his arms around his neck; once Washington decided the kiss had been decent, he returned to the stove, starting to fill the plates with fuming stew. Lafayette turned on his heels with a shit-eating grin and gave them thumbs-up before putting on oven mitts and getting to work on taking small ramekins out of the oven.

 

After dinner, everyone agreed that Lafayette had probably tried to kill them all. After the _boeuf bourgignon_ and _gratin dauphinois_ had come the cheese assortment, and finally, the _crême brulée_ , which had involved Lafayette brandishing a small welding torch enthusiastically, a sight none of them would ever forget. They retired to the smaller room they had been in before, Lafayette uncorking a bottle of cognac, and they all were glad they didn’t have to drive, although only the Frenchman seemed to not care about how drunk everyone was feeling already.

It all felt very familiar, after all. John leaning against Alexander who held his hand, contentedly sipping at his cognac, while Washington asked Hercules about the differences between silk and satin when it came to stitching (he was surprisingly knowledgeable about it. Apparently his wife had embroidered the cushions herself), a hand tight around Lafayette’s shoulder, who looked a second away from purring, his foot sliding against Washington’s leg, not even attempting to conceal it.

 

 

When they got home, past 1am by far, and got to bed, warm in their drunkenness and still bathing in the affection that could be felt in every minute of that evening, Alex and John lied in the bed, staring at each other in the moonlight.

“I don’t regret any hardship I have to go through for them at work,” muttered Alex.

“I don’t regret my black eye,” answered John on the same tone.

“Their love is so obvious it’s disgusting,” commented Alex.

“And what about ours, then?” smiled John.

Alex felt like he was flying, flying high, and at the same time falling down a bottomless pit. That’s how John made him feel, all the time. So maybe the alcohol was a lousy excuse, maybe he actually wasn’t that drunk, but when he let his forehead rest against John’s and whispered “I don’t think anyone could love someone more than I love you”, he meant every word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Lafayette's grandmother is inspired by my own French grandma. I have memories of lunches that started at 11am and finished by 6pm, with about 8 courses, and if you didn't get a second helping, she'd ask if it tasted bad, my grandpa would say that yes it did and that's why nobody got a second helping, and people would politely get some more food on their plate and die of over-eating.  
> Please leave kudos and comments if you liked it ! It always brightens my days, as well as messages on my tumblr.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooo there. Have I mentioned you look great today? Because you do.  
> Thanks to Elisa, trash sister and dumpster roomie; thanks for having my back.
> 
> This one is smutty. Ooh la la, as everyone thinks the French say (hint: we don't. ever.)  
> Heve fun. Remember to use protection. Mama Iwillgladlyjointhefight is here for you.

One month. One long month of ignoring hate mail, scheduling interviews, making official statements, having to deal with the backlash of Lafayette’s one-too-many exes trying to steal a bit of the spotlight, advertising public donations to LGBT groups and Veterans associations alike to quelch the Republican’s thirst for blood. Without a doubt, Alexander Hamilton was not cut out for something that demanded that much diplomacy and finesse. Actually, there had been several instances where Angelica had been on the verge of plainly dismembering him, right then and there, on the carpeted floor of his White House office.

The first time was when Congressman John Adams had tweeted that if Washington couldn’t pick between men and women, then maybe he was unfit to pick between being a good leader and not. Alex had called him a fat motherfucker on Twitter and also insulted his wife in passing. Angelica had shut down his account. He’d made another.

The second time was when reporter James Callender had scored an interview with “a close friend of new boy-toy Gilbert du Motier, Thomas Jefferson” and Alexander had actually bursted in the news room and told Callender that Jefferson was about as close to Lafayette as he himself was to Gandhi, and did Jefferson want to see what his take on non-violence was. It had made the headline. Angelica had cried.

The third time was when Senator Henry Laurens was quoted as saying that “homos and the likes are the reason our great country is turning into a communist hell”. Angelica had literally slapped the phone off his hand just as his thumb hovered over the send button on a post-sex afterglow selfie he had taken with John.

So, definitely, Alexander Hamilton could NOT wait to become the new speechwriter.

 

Fortunately, September was almost over. And, like a spectacular ending to Alex’s career as an intern at the Communications office, he met the famous Aaron Burr.

Now, Aaron Burr was not famous for his opinions. If anything, he was famous for not voicing his opinions, in a perfectly politically correct manner. Having graduated from law school, with honors, he was actually already working as a junior counsel for the White House. To Alex, he was first and foremost the guy who had made his life a living hell by setting fire to Thomas Jefferson’s office and thus forcing them to room together. That meant two things : Aaron Burr was friendly enough to Jefferson to come to his office and get coffee from his fancy coffee maker, and two, the man was a hazard to himself and others; but all things considered, he was pretty impressed that the man, not much older than he was, had landed a counseling job in the White House.

So, when Alex opened the door to his office after getting treated to lunch by Angelica, and was greeted by the sight of Jefferson using a fire extinguisher on his printer, he knew that the tall, brooding man pinching the bridge of his nose as if fighting a migraine had to be Aaron Burr. He walked right to him and extended his hand.

“Aaron Burr, sir. My name is Alexander Hamilton.” Burr’s eyes widened as he shook his hand but he didn’t get a chance to reply. Alex was not finished. “You graduated from Columbia, didn’t you? I heard about it, I studied there too, except I was PoliSci, not Law - although I attended a fair share of law classes as well, and we were not in the same year, but I have heard of your achievements -”

“Do you always talk so much,” stated more than asked Burr.

“It’s when he doesn’t that you have to worry, because that means he is doing something stupid,” said Jefferson, looking sadly at his printer, well, the lump of burnt plastic on his desk. “I don’t think we can save it. Honestly, Aaron, I wonder how you do that.”

“Sure,” intervened Alex, “those who don’t do anything are sure to never do anything wrong, right, Jefferson?”

“What are you even talking about,” muttered Jefferson. He rubbed at his eyes, reddened by the smoke, as Burr opened a window and left promptly. “I have to print a report for Greene about the last meeting with the Chinese minister. Hamilton, give me your printer’s Wifi password.”

“Oh, sure. It’s PrinterDaddy. Capital P, capital D.” Alex sent a beaming smile Jefferson’s way.

The other man clenched his jaw. “Hamilton. Give me that password.”

“Oh, yes, sorry. ShittyMacNCheese2k16.”

The shriek that came out of Jefferson’s mouth was all but human. Actually, it reminded Alex of that screaming goat video that Hercules had set as his alarm clock a few months ago.

“I can’t wait until I get out of this office,” said both men together.

Alex raised an eyebrow as Jefferson snickered. “I have been offered to work as a Deputy Executive Secretary for the Secretary of State.”

“So many words to say you’ll handle Greene’s schedule and make sure he knows how to say ‘ _j’adore Edith Piaf_ ’ on an official trip.”

“So many words to say you are jealous.”

“So many words to say fuck you, yet those are the ones I chose. Did you hear Printer Daddy’s made me his official speechwriter ? Also, fuck you.” Alex slammed the door on his way out, two middle fingers raised at Thomas Jefferson.

 

* * *

To : Curls <3

JUST DEFEATED THE RUGEN TO MY INIGO

 

To : Curls <3

DRINKS ARE ON ME TONIGHT

 

From : Curls <3

Did Jefferson kill your father. is George okay

 

To : Curls <3

THE PRESIDENT IS NOT MY FATHER

 

To : Curls <3

GOD JOHN I SHOULD NEVER HAVE SHOWN YOU PRINCESS BRIDE

* * *

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

I heard the President died? Deepest apologies to the nation. Does Jefferson take his place or is that the Lion King

 

To : Hunkules Mulligan

I HATE YOU

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

I am NOT pulling a Jackie Kennedy and wearing a blood-splattered Chanel suit while Von Steuben gets sworn in

 

To : Baguette Kisser

I am going to kill John

* * *

 

 

Four hours later, Alex was meeting John and Hercules at a bar, a small hole-in-the-wall not that far from John’s place, with decently-priced beer and cheap nachos, which was quite a feat this close to the city. They took their seats in a booth, John facing Alexander and Hercules, and ordered three pints; the waitress smiled at them as she walked to the bar, long raven hair floating behind her.

“Move your ass, Laurens,” ordered a voice Alexander knew well, as it belonged to Angelica, who squeezed herself next to John with Peggy, Eliza taking a seat next to Hercules. The waitress came back, set the beers in front of them, and turned to the Schuyler sisters.

“I’ll have a Cosmo”, said Angelica, as Peggy chimed in “a Margarita for me” (her older sister raised an eyebrow. “What? it’s my name,” she pouted).

“And I’ll have a Sex on the Beach”, smirked Eliza.

“Well, wouldn’t you know? So would I,” purred the waitress with a wink as she left.

“Damn. Eliza’s got more game than me,” frowned Alex.

“Alexander, everybody’s got more game than you,” joked Hercules. “You got John by sheer luck and harassed him with texts until he liked you.”

John shook his head. “That was true until I saw his massive -”

“None of you are even at Eliza’s ankle,” decreted Angelica. “None of you even deserve to lay eyes on her if not by my extreme clemency.”

“Well Angie, you better ready your shovel talk”, said Peggy as she elbowed her in the ribs, because the waitress had just brought their cocktails and told Eliza hers was on the house, along with a napkin with her number and name (“Maria”) written on it in red pen that matched her lipstick. Angelica looked like she was half-proud, half-about to pass out.

“What are we drinking to, then?” asked Peggy.

“To not having Alex in my service anymore,” answered Angelica.

“To getting rid of Jefferson and having my own office”, roared Alexander.

“To Alex buying the drinks for once,” cheered John. They clinked their glass and took sips while Alexander complained (“wait, John, I told _you_ the drinks would be on me, I didn’t expect that there would be six of us, and you forfeited that when you started being a little shit to your _boyfriend_ that you are supposed to _love_ and _support_ ”) but he stopped pretty quickly when a foot slid up his calf and nudged at his inner thigh, John flashing him a winning - but promising - smile over his pint.

 

 

Three pints (and as many cocktails) later, their composure was slightly less appropriate. Hercules had taken Peggy to the backroom that apparently doubled as a dancefloor where she was attempting to teach him how to dance to rock’n’roll, but many years of watching “Dancing with the Stars” had led Hercules to think that there were many more throws and flips than she expected, and boy was she glad she had put on pants instead of a skirt.

Angelica and Alexander had switched seats, so Angelica could try to tell her sister about that man she had met that was so sweet to her, but he was working for the British embassy (“Thank God, he is not THE Ambassador, we’ve had enough of that,” she slurred as she attempted to roll her eyes but just managed to give Alexander the side-eye), and there was really no way of knowing if he “ _liked_ her” liked her or was just polite, Eliza, you know how the British are, while Eliza was sipping on her fourth free cocktail, now a rose Martini, keeping an eye on the sultry waitress while trying to look at her sister with genuine interest, which just made her look like a cross-eyed cat with a knack for red lips and swaying hips.

As for Alexander and John, the world could have stopped spinning that they probably wouldn’t even have noticed. They were at that point in the drunken state where you are sure you are inconspicuous but are actually not at all. John was actually pretty much lying on Alexander, and their mouths had been sucking at each other’s face for what felt like hours but were probably just ten minutes, which was already a long time to go without breathing anything else than the other’s moans and gasps. Then John started palming at Alexander’s cock through his jeans and Alexander had to push him away, force him to get up, take his hands and lead him to the bathroom in the least discreet way ever encountered on this Earth. Angelica and Eliza just shrugged. They’d been to college; they’d seen worse.

 

John pushed Alex into one of the stalls, made sure it was locked, and slammed his back against the door, taking his bottom lip into his teeth hungrily. He made quick work of Alex’s belt, unbuttoned his pants, and slid them down quickly along with his boxers to mid-thigh, then hurriedly kneeled. And if there was urgency before, there was none now, as he stared at Alex’s cock with drunken awe. If he could spend his life on his knees for Alex, he would, he decided right then and there. He gave a lick at the head, where some precome had already leaked, and raised his eyes to Alex, who was watching him with so much love and heat in his eyes he wondered how this look could be directed at him. They heard the door to the bathroom open and someone splashing water on their face. John grinned and raised his finger to his mouth, silently ordering Alexander to stay silent, and licked a slow, wet, hot stripe from balls to head. He felt one of Alex’s hand fly to his mouth while the other tangled in his untied curls. John finally took the whole shaft in his mouth, slowly, keeping his tongue flat against the underside, reaching a bit farther than was probably safe while having had a drink, and breathed in calmy through his nose.

When Alex felt the tip of his cock enter John’s throat, he had to bite his knuckles so hard he wondered if he had broken skin. And when John swallowed around his cock, he was happy to hear the door slam shut because there was no way he was staying silent. “Oh, shit,” he groaned as John pulled back and whispered “be silent for me, baby girl”, and took him back whole in his mouth, a hand reaching up to fondle his balls. Alex just lost it right there, his hips thrusting, burying his cock farther down John’s throat, and he felt him gag, pulling out instantaneously and cradling John’s head in his hands.

“Honey, John, are you okay? Did I -”

“Do it again,” said John, and Alex wasn’t sure if he heard what he did or if a chorus of angels had suddenly decided to play the Ave Maria in his head, because John had to repeat, “please, Alex, baby girl, please, do it again.”

Alex nodded dumbly as John kissed a series of feather-light kisses up his cock, before sucking it in once more. He took Alex’s hand from his cheek and brought it to the back of his head. Alex waited until John’s breathing had slowed down, accomodating him in his throat, before giving an experimental thrust. He felt more than heard John’s hum of approval, so he did it again. And again. Pretty soon he was fucking John’s face in earnest, muttering sweet nothings, how much he loved John, how his lips looked obscenely wrapped around him, how he just wanted to bring him home and bounce on his cock until they both couldn’t take it anymore - and he spilled right then, down John’s throat, who swallowed greedily as Alex slid his cock out of his mouth, kneeling down, kissing his teary eyes, his cheek, his swollen lips, and wondering, wondering, how in the world he had scored someone like John Laurens.

“Did I hurt you?” he gently asked John.

“Let’s do that again sometime, yeah?” answered the other man with a grin.

“Oh my god I love you,” said Alex as he kissed his forehead. “Do you need, ah, help down there ?”

His eyes fell to John’s jeans, where a wet patch was visible.

“Did you. Did you come in your pants.” marveled Alex.

“Shut up.” John took off his pants, then his boxers; used a tissue to clean himself up, threw the underwear in the trash, and slid his jeans back on, untucking his shirt so the stain was less visible.

“My boyfriend, who just deep-throated me, is going commando. I hope to never wake up.” Alex almost cried.

 

 

When they went back to the booth, Peggy and Hercules were sitting, both sucking at straws on what looked like Piña Coladas. Angelica was nowhere to be found, and neither was Eliza.

“Angelica went home, she says thank you to Alex for paying for the drinks. Eliza went with the waitress, she also says thanks for the drinks, but since all of hers were on the house, you’re pretty covered on that front,” Peggy informed them.

“I ordered pints for both of you but there are probably tepid by now,” said Hercules. “You took a while there. I hope you washed your hands.”

“We were very hygienic”, nodded John, taking a gulp of his beer. He didn’t care if it was tepid, he was parched.

Alex just smiled knowingly, eliciting a groan from both Peggy and Hercules, who resumed their conversation, apparently on how to best murder a man and get rid of all tracks. He made a mental note to never cross them.

Alexander Hamilton did not have a brain-to-mouth filter. When drunk, honestly, his brain just could not be held responsible for anything. So, when he leant on the table and slurred “John, I love you and I want you to live with us”, it actually came from his heart (and maybe his dick, too, but who could blame him). The conversation on his side stopped. It occured to him that maybe he could have asked Hercules first, so he turned to the man.

“...if Hercules, my man here, my best bro, my wingman, will allow it.”

“Holy shit you’re hammered,” remarked Hercules as he shook his head. “Dude, John practically lives with us anyway. It’s not like I hate him. If he’d been single we’d probably have had Laf move in too.”

“I love you,” said Alex as he patted Hercule’s forearm.

“Yeah, yeah, me too. I’m not sucking your dick though.” smiled Hercules with a shrug.

Alex made it a big ceremonial, handing his key to John, preparing an impromptu speech, getting up on the table, starting about love and friendship and trust, ranting just a bit about the state of the economy and its outcome on weakened households, comparing a few numbers, ending by enumerating the various American values, upheld or not in those modern times, that he held dear and deemed necessary to their well-being, which nobody in the bar really understood but cheered nevertheless anytime he mentioned “the United States of fucking America”.

He didn’t know at what point Peggy and Hercules had left to find a club to party in, or when John had forced him down the table and helped him pay the tab and sent him home in a taxi while he went back home to get some underwear and clean pants, but when he stood in front of his door he felt very stupid.

* * *

To : Curls <3

heyyy abt myy keey i acutlally nede it nwo

 

To : Curls <3

amm lckd outt my oWn lpace

 

To : Curls <3

Jhon recsue me

 

From : Curls <3

Who is jhon ill ffihgt him

 

From : Curls <3

oooO tahts me

 

From : Curls <3

bE htere in 10. Looove YOU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I ever thought I would write about abolitionist hot-head John Laurens getting facefucked by founding father Alexander Hamilton, well, here it is, enjoy your stay in the Sin Pit.
> 
> As always, I love your comments. I live for your comments. They keep me going (in many aspects).


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello ! How are you today? I hope everything is okay for you. If not, grab a blanket and a cup of tea. You deserve it. Thank you so much for your messages and comments !!  
> Thanks to Elisa, my #1 fan. Thank god we are on the same time zone.
> 
> All the sayings in French in this are true. I have heard them my whole life. Don't judge.

To : Baguette Kisser

John is moving in with us today ! 

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Yes, Hercules texted me. Party at my place to celebrate tonight !

 

To : Baguette Kisser

You live half at Mount Vernon half at the White House

 

From : Baguette Kisser

That is true. I am inviting you to a party at your own place tonight thanks  _ à ce soir _

* * *

 

Alex stretched like a cat under the covers, his foot grazing John’s leg. He turned to the other man, and he already knew he was in a sappy mood, because that was now the sight he would wake up to every morning : John and his halo of curls, the unattractive occasional snore that was more than made up by the adorable snuffling that followed, the toned arms he fell asleep in every night, the greenish complexion - I’m sorry what? John opened his eyes and ran to the bathroom, naked as the day he was born, opening the door wide, and emptying his alcohol-filled stomach in the toilet bowl while a disgusted shriek pierced the shower curtain. That wasn’t exactly how Alexander had imagined their first morning as a couple living together, but then again, when had Alexander Hamilton’s life gone like he had planned?

So. It turned out John was a morning-after kind of puker. It also turned out that Peggy had crashed at their place after Hercules and her had been done with dancing at around 5am and was happening to take a shower at that moment. Alexander slid into sweatpants and went carefully to the bathroom, Peggy hiding behind the curtain and wrinkling her nose. 

“Peggy, good morning, how long until you’re done?” asked Alex cheerfully.

“I was actually going to get out. John used my towel to wipe his mouth.”

Alex looked around, looking for a clean towel. Peggy sighed. “It’s not like I have much to fear from any of you”, she said as she just walked out of the shower, bending to retrieve her clothes discarded by the sink, and went to Alex’s empty room to dress up.

Alex blinked. “Well, that was a vision.” And, to John, “come on, babe, get in”.

John sat in the tub, still looking somewhat sea-sick. Alex made sure the water was not too hot, not too cold, just perfect, then wiggled out of his pants, putting his own hair up in a bun, sitting cross-legged next to John.

“You don’t have to do this”, whispered John in a hoarse whisper. 

Alex hummed, scooting closer so he could put his legs around John, using the shower head to wash the sick and sweat out of John’s curls. “I’m doing it because I want to. Love is not just getting your dick up my ass, it’s also taking care of you when you feel bad.” He set the shower head to the side so the spray felt gentle and warming, using shampoo John had left there (the appartment was already full of little things that were John’s. His toothbrush. His books. His socks. Alex.) to work through the curls, absent-mindedly kissing a shoulder, a freckle, the shell of an ear, until John sighed and relaxed against him and Alex’s back was to the cold ceramic, his legs wrapped against John’s middle, who was stroking his calves distractedly.

“It’s just a little hangover morning sickness, baby girl,” smiled John.

“Awesome. We’ll call him Philip.”

John laughed. Then stopped laughing. “You want kids, Alex?”

Alex’s fingers stopped stroking John’s hair. It was actually something he hadn’t thought much about. Maybe he didn’t really want to think about it. For a man who had opinions about everything, from the Chinese black market to the right way to make paella, that was one thing his mind was blank about. John had probably felt the change in Alex because he tilted his head until it rested in the crook of Alex’s neck and muttered “We don’t have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” rushed Alexander, kissing John’s temple. “I just never really… I don’t know. I guess? Yes, probably. I don’t know. I know what it means not to parent, because I’ve seen that, and I am sure I could guess at what it means to parent if only it meant the opposite of not parenting, but I am not sure of what it really…  _ entails _ . Parenting. I didn’t see much of it in the foster system, you know? Mostly I meant money for the trouble I gave the happy couple who took me in. And more often than not the trouble far outweighed the gains. But if I had a kid? I don’t know. With the right person? I might.” He didn’t say “ _ with you _ ”, but they both knew it hung heavy in the air. It was the first time John had heard Alex talk so long about  _ before _ , before college, before working his ass off, before living on coffee and ramen, before two hours of sleep per night. The silence was a little overwhelming. So he just said, “I like Philip as a name”, and Alex’s fingers were back to massaging his scalp, the tub slowly filling up.

 

When they got out of the water twenty minutes later, they were feeling marginally better. Alex put his sweatpants back on, they brushed their teeth side by side, Alex doing his best to bump hips with John often enough that the towel around his waist kept falling to the floor, before handing him some Advil. He walked out of the bathroom, made sure the way was clear so John could get in their room and try to find clean clothes, and followed the scent of food to the kitchen.

“And then I was rincing my hair, and he just kneels over the toilet bowl and all the stuff comes out, and I had to walk out, nude, nothing to defend my honour with except my fists and the fire in my blood,” was dramatically explaining Peggy to Hercules, viciously slicing at a kiwi while he flipped a pancake.

“This is terrible. This place is a den of sin and depravity. I blame Hamilton, honestly.” quipped Hercules

“Thanks,” said Alex, scooping up a handful of pomegranate seeds and popping them in his mouth. “Did we grow a garden? Can I help?”

“I went to the farmer’s market on my morning run,” Hercules told him, handing Alex a pitcher full of fresh orange juice. “Dress up the table, Hamilton, we’ve got a lady for breakfast today.”

“Please tell me you meant John,” frowned Peggy.

Pretty soon the table was loaded with pancakes, a fruit salad, bacon, eggs, and what looked like an overcooked attempt at muffins. John joined them not too long after, his chest a little too tight in one of Alexander’s shirt, the owner of which just smugly grinned (“John, don’t flex too much, I don’t want you ripping the sleeves off my shirt, Peggy, have you seen the biceps on him”, until Peggy actually flung a piece of bacon at his head).

“I called my landlord,” said John. “He told me I have a month’s notice. I am not sure I can afford paying both rents for now, guys. We may have to postpone.”

“Don’t even mention it,” huffed Hercules with a wave of his fork. “The rent here is ridiculous. I really only make Hamilton pay because he is a pain in the ass. You don’t have to pay anything while you owe rent for your other place. I am sure we have a spare key in here somewhere too.”

John smiled as Alex started to express his outrage at being robbed of his money, and do you know all the things I could do with that money, Mulligan (“like what? get John to Disneyland?”), and why the fuck not, maybe John would like that, right John, I heard Florida is great if you like oranges and alligators, do you like alligators John, did you know that alligators have taken to eating citrus and how cool would it be to see an alligator eat an orange in Florida, imagine the irony John - and John was so happy to think that every night, he would be coming back home to his nerd of a boyfriend, with their sweet giant of a roommate, in an appartment always buzzing with life like he was so unused to.

 

Getting John’s stuff from his appartment to the other one was pretty easy. He didn’t own many things. When his father had kicked him out, he had just grabbed his clothes, a fair amount of books, took all the money he could from his savings account, and ran the hell out of there. While working at the coffee shop, he hadn’t bought much, his appartment was already furnished, and he had no reason to accumulate sentimental knick-knacks. Actually, a single trip with Hercules was enough, while Peggy was helping Alex getting the supplies for that night’s impromptu party. John was glad; usually, on weekends, he worked when Peggy wasn’t or the other way around, but that weekend, they both were off and another poor soul was serving the coffee. 

“I am really happy you are moving in with us, Laurens,” said Hercules while they rode the bus back to their place.

“Thank you, Herc. I was worried when Alexander didn’t even ask you.”

“He was drunk off his ass, and he is so in love he can’t even hold a normal conversation without mentioning your name. No. If anything I am glad you are here to keep an eye on him.”

“What do you mean?” John frowned.

“You know how Hamilton is. Forgets to eat. Forgets to sleep. Talks like he can’t bear the silence. I think the only times he actually sleeps is when you are there to exhaust him, so, thank god for small blessings and earplugs, I guess.”

John chuckled. He thought of the shower that morning. Sometimes, indeed, the best way to tell someone you loved them was to simply care for them when they couldn’t.

  
  


“I am here ! Let’s get this party started!” yelled Lafayette as Alex opened the door for him. His raised arms fell to his sides as he saw the only person there was Peggy, unloading groceries and bottles. 

“Laf, it’s 5.30pm. John and Hercules are still in the traffic on their way over. No party ever starts so early. He let Lafayette in, with his bodyguard. “Hey Bob.”

“Mr Hamilton.” The man looked resigned to being called Bob, now, apparently.

Lafayette was already kissing Peggy on both cheeks, as she giggled. “Miss Peggy Schuyler. You look more beautiful every day. If I weren’t so gay for George, I would try to elope with you this instant.”

“This is a disturbing, yet charming thought”, laughed Peggy. “Please, Laf, put away the bottles, will you? Alex, clean the living room.”

Apparently, Lafayette got a “please” and he didn’t, moaned Alex, not even taken aback by the fact that the First Gentleman was burrowing through his cabinets, aligning liquor bottles (they had splurged a little), taking a bottle out of a paper bag he had stashed away in his coat (“Whiskey for my dear  _ héros  _ Laurens, the best there is, that’s what George told me and I trust him, I know nothing of that”). 

John and Herc got there thirty minutes later. John got to work putting away his stuff, the clothes in the closet where Alex had already left some space for him, books on whatever surface he could find that was not already hidden by other books, the single picture he had of his sister and brother on their nightstand. He took a deep breath. He was there. He was home.

He went back to the kitchen, where Lafayette was cutting up carrot sticks while Peggy was making pig-in-a-blanket snacks.

“You know, we have a saying in France. It says that  _ les carottes rendent aimables _ , that means, huh, “eating carrots makes you nicer”, also  _ ça donne les cuisses roses _ , “it makes your thighs pink”.”

“The French are so fucking weird”, Hercules shook his head.

“We also say that it improves eyesight,” added Lafayette.

“How so?” asked Alex.

“Have you ever seen a rabbit with glasses?” deadpanned Lafayette.

A silence. “I think I’ll take you up on that beer, Hercules,” said Peggy.

 

Two hours later, Lafayette’s joke would have made them all laugh. Actually, anything could have made them piss their pants laughing. Hercules, Peggy and Alex were determined to invent the best cocktail they could come up with, but their tastebuds had long ago sounded the retreat and they were just mixing liquors who looked like their colors might look nice together. Meanwhile, Lafayette was doting on John, who, although his eye and ribs had nicely healed, was very happy playing the martyr while the Frenchman filled his glass with whiskey regularly.

They clinked their glasses to John moving in maybe five times, another time to being friends, and another again to Hercules who had found a quarter in the couch. And then Lafayette dropped the bomb.

“ _ Mes amis _ ,” he said in a very assured voice considering all the wine he had in his system at that moment, “I have come up with the perfect plan to make this nation like my lovely self and appreciate our royal couple.”

“The USA hasn’t had a king for a long while”, remarked Alex.

“Hush,  _ mon petit lion _ . Let my fantasies about George in Prince William’s royal outfit run free. Actually I have a few drawings and also a photo montage I did and -”

“Just get to the point, sweetheart,” said Hercules in a panicked voice.

“No, no, I want to see those pictures,” yelled Peggy as Lafayette slid to the floor on her side.

“Okay, so this is George on a horse, and look in this one it looks like he is carrying me, and did you know he can actually do it cause sometimes I just can’t walk anymore, and oh no this one is a nude -”

“I have seen enough”, blurted out Peggy as she held a hand to her eyes.

“See,” nodded John, “that’s why we don’t want to see on his phone anymore. We’ve all seen way more than we should and I am pretty sure the NSA is after us.”

“Lafayette, for fuck’s sake, please share with us your genius idea”, exploded Alex.

The Frenchman took a sip of his red wine, sat on the edge of the couch, and looked at them all like he was about to tell them the secret to the universe. “I’m going to propose to George.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> à ce soir = see you tonight
> 
> Yes, Lafayette, I am sure this is a great plan. What a hopeless romantic. He sure loves to put both his feet in it. (anything for a wedding, though).


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ! Thank you for still tagging along ! As always, your comments, messages on my blog (which always make me jump with joy), and kudos are my life force.  
> Thank you to Elisa. My love for you is eternal. My days are hard but you make them sweeter.
> 
> Picking back up right where we left. Laf proposed. I don't know about you but I'm excited.

The silence is deafening. All eyes are turned to Lafayette, who sat back on the couch with a satisfied look on his face, like he just told them that he found the way to solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict in three days and still have time for a quick dip in the Dead Sea after, taking a sip at his red wine. John actually still had a carrot stick halfway in his mouth.

“I was thinking maybe a gospel choir,” added Lafayette.

That’s when all hell breaks loose.

“YOU ANNOUNCED YOUR RELATIONSHIP A MONTH AGO,” yelled Alex.

“YOU ARE NOT PROPOSING AFTER SEVEN MONTHS OF DATING,” shouted John.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU SHOWED ME GEORGE WASHINGTON’S DICK,” cried Peggy.

But Hercules was deep in thought. “Actually, this is not such a bad plan.”

Lafayette shot a beaming smile at him while everyone’s attention focused on Hercules, on the floor, still stirring the weird mixture of curaçao and rum Alexander had suggested.

“What do the Americans like more than anything?” asked Hercules.

“Deep frying things”, supplied John.

“Freedom”, nearly screeched Alex.

“I don’t know but I for one really like the Superbowl”, shrugged Peggy.

“A show”, quietly said Lafayette. Hercules nodded.

“Peggy was actually the closest one of you three dumbasses,” grinned Hercules. “The American people, they like entertainment. A presidential wedding? While in Office? Has that ever happened?”

“1886, Grover Cleveland,” rushed Alex. John stared at him in awe.

“Actually,” said Peggy, “I think I see your point. It’s like, that Hunger Games stuff, right? A wedding makes people happy. They will speculate about what Lafayette will be wearing, who will be there.”

“Grover Cleveland didn’t have media coverage and it wasn’t an unprecedented gay marriage,” muttered Alex, frowning. “It makes sense. If you’re irreproachable.”

“They have been so far,” remarked John. “The media is already less vindicative against the presidential coming out. Of course, the scandal of Donald Trump hiding 40 pounds of cocaine in his basement did help tremendously.”

“That’s been a relief,” sighed Alex. “Not to brag, but we did all that could be done communication-wise.”

“Yes, and I played nice, I played along, I went to every charity gala Angelica wanted me to attend with or without George,” frowned Lafayette, who was clearly getting worked up, “but I’ve, ha, I’ve thought long and hard about this for a while, actually, even before going public, and I don’t even have the words in the English language to tell you how sure I am that this is the man I wish to marry.” He got up. “I did not come to ask for your,  _ approbation _ , your, your, uh, approval.”

“Sit down, Laf, you drunk motherfucker”, said Alex, tugging on Lafayette’s sleeve until the Frenchman sat back down. “Nobody is doubting your feelings. We’re just worried about the public reaction. The inquiry the Congress has ordered about POTUS’ abuse of power is apparently giving no results so far, so there’s that.”

“This evening got real depressing real fast”, moaned Peggy.

Lafayette took a deep breath. John slammed a hand on his back, raised his glass, and cheered, “To the groom!” Lafayette smiled at him, visibly relieved, clinking their glasses. So did the three others.

 

When Lafayette left, trying to coax Bob into giving him a piggy-back ride (“I can’t do that, Monsieur de Lafayette. I couldn’t reach for my gun should need arise.” “I order you to give me a piggy-back ride.” “Mr President specifically told me that I am not to obey your orders if deemed unreasonable.” “I can’t move my legs ! I have sudden paralysis ! You will have to carry me !” “Please, Monsieur de Lafayette. I have a wife and kids I would like to go back to.”), Peggy accepted Hercules’ invitation to stay and she headed to the bedroom, kissing them all on the cheek sweetly. John turned to the other two men.

“A wedding, eh?”

Alex grinned. “This smells like trouble. I am happy some poor bastard is taking my place at Communications.”

“I can’t wait to be best man,” said Hercules as he got up and made his way to his room, sure by now that Peggy was decent.

“I thought you’d called dibs on flower girl?” reminded him Alex.

“That was for your and John’s wedding. Good night, boys.” Hercules got in his room and waved before closing the door.

“Our wedding,” John raised an eyebrow, nursing the rest of his whiskey.

Alex did not look at him. “Let’s go to bed, shall we?”

John followed him to their room with a knowing smile. He kept it on as they undressed and slid under the covers, Alex giving a look at the picture of John’s siblings on the nightstand and moving it so the lamp did not hide it and the moonlight hit it just so. John felt his heart swell. 

“It’s our room now,” whispered Alex, facing his boyfriend.

“It doesn’t feel different than it did a week ago,” remarked John.

“No,” agreed Alex. “But in a way, it kinda does, you know?”

John knew. He caressed Alexander’s cheek. “I think Laf is right to propose.”

“You just want me to slow dance with you at the wedding.”

“Actually, I would like that very much.”

“You’re a hopeless romantic, John Laurens. I am a pragmatic. I will not bring you flowers every Sunday.”

“What’s the point then?” Alex kissed the top of his nose, breathing in the scent of whiskey and coconut shampoo. John laughed. “But really, though. When you find the right person, you gotta hold on tight. Don’t let go.”

“Put a ring on it,” smirked Alex.

“Beyoncé was right all along.”

They fell asleep holding tight onto each other. Not letting go. If they hadn’t been drunk, they could have read in this the prophecy of John’s words; but maybe that was a bit early, or maybe it had always been there somehow and didn’t need to be said.

In any case, when John woke up after oversleeping, the next day, Alexander may have been typing away at his laptop in the living room, but a fresh bouquet of dahlias was waiting for him on the nightstand.

  
  


 

* * *

From : Petit Lion

Break a leg

 

To : Petit Lion

I really hope not?? Why would I want to??

* * *

 

Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette, had game, and he knew it. He was a charmer, flirting his way easily through the crowd, loving every second of it. Yet, when faced with George Washington, President of the United States, he turned into a puddle of goo with a lovestruck smile. So, when it became evident to him that this was the man he would walk down the aisle to, in a manner of speech, he still hadn’t worked out all the details, was it possible to ride down the aisle on a bike? He had to check that out with the staff, well, anyway, when he  _ knew _ this was it, this was the endgame for him, he was faced with a challenge.

Oh, he could pretty much see what would happen after the proposal. Either George would say yes and they would celebrate with champagne and whipped cream straight from the can to the body, or he would say no and he would drown his disappointment with champagne and whipped cream straight from the can to the mouth. But the proposal in itself? Now that was something else altogether.

The way he saw it, he had two choices. Do it what Alex would call “the sane way”, a mild thing with probably a ring hidden in a flute of bubbly, maybe a bouquet of red roses on the table? Some Frank Sinatra playing on the stereo - or some Whitney Houston, yes, George liked her. Or he could do it the Lafayette way. And if the way George smiled at his boyfriend’s picture he used as a background on his phone when he took it out of his pocket was any indication, the man liked Lafayette in all his little quirks and eccentricities. 

 

Lafayette had been a bit tense the whole night. It was Friday, two weeks after he had told his friends of his intentions, and Angelica had booked a gala for them with the NAACP, which was great, and it had been a very interesting night, but he had spent the afternoon at Mount Vernon with Hercules, making sure that things were perfect for when George and he arrived for one of the few weekends they were able to spend there together. George had felt his nervousness, of course, he always felt every little change, not only in Laf, but in all situations, and this was what made him such a great man; but when it came to Lafayette, he was practically attuned to his every shiver.

When they left in the black car, Lafayette was practically vibrating. George offered him his jacket, thinking he may be cold in the October night; he took the jacket, more in adoration of the gesture than for real need. 

Lafayette had made very special instructions to the driver. Of course, the CIA had to be warned and he knew what was happening was not as intimate as he wished it could be; but every time the argument of George’s safety was brought up, he knew he would never put that on the line. The car stopped at the open iron gates, at the start of the private driveway. George raised a questioning eyebrow. Lafayette, too nervous to talk for once, just took his hand and pulled him gently out of the car.

 

The lawn in front of the house, on the side, the windowsills, all glowered with a thousand tea candles hidden in the grass (they were electric, to Lafayette’s utter sadness. Hercules had insisted that setting the lawn on fire was not a romantic gesture). The Frenchman felt George’s hand squeeze his, tight, heard him swallow. They started walking, slowly. The smell of carnations, sweet in the air, as Lafayette tried to come up with words he had rehearsed a thousand times, and yet, nothing came at this moment. Maybe George understood, because he did not press him, and just waited, making sure he adapted his pace to Lafayette’s. And when they approached the house, they could hear the faint notes of a piano.

“Schumann’s Ghost Variations,” muttered George in a low voice.

“The first time we met,” said Lafayette with the same tone. “At the Conservatory, in August, for that piano recital. I had just been appointed. You shook my hand.”

“You kissed both my cheeks.”

“You smelled of Bleu by Chanel.”

“I never stopped using it after that.” They had reached the front door. Lafayette opened it. Tea candles, still, everywhere; but, this time, bouquets of small yellow flowers everywhere. George walked to one, still holding his boyfriend’s hand, gently caressing at one of the blossoms.

“Primroses,” said Lafayette in a strangled voice.

“What do they mean?” asked George softly.

“ _ Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi _ ,” mumbled Lafayette, looking everywhere but at Washington. The melody changed on the piano. Lafayette thought that the pianist he had hired was way underpaid. She was getting a big tip tonight.

“You were in the Oval Office and it started snowing,” remembered Washington.

“It was January, and I told you my mother used to listen to Debussy in the winter.”

“It made her feel warmer and I played Estampes on the speakers.”

“I kissed you that day.”

“And I kissed you back.” He turned to Lafayette as if to kiss him, but the Frenchman tugged on his hand until they were up the stairs, fairylights wrapped around the wooden handrail, to the bedroom, daffodils elegantly waiting on both nightstands, by that picture they had taken, one day, after a walk by the Potomac, Lafayette’s head bent in a laugh half-hidden by George’s arm around them.

“Daffodils for desire,” smiled George.

“We walked by the Potomac and you made fun of me because I walked too slow. But it was you who was always too fast.”

“You took my breath away that night. You never gave it back.”

“Because I needed it to live.”

“You are the worst, Gil,” and it was said with so much love for the ridiculous man that it only made Lafayette chuckle, almost choking on tears that threatened to fall.

He crossed the room to the small staircase in the adjacent corridor and climbed up; George followed him, up, to the cupola, lit by as many small tea lights as the room would allow, the smell of orange blossom in the air: and this one George knew well, because it was one he had researched before when looking for a floral composition that would suit Gilbert, one he had long thought about but thought too forward, one that meant marriage, one that meant eternal love.

The window was open, and that piano again, and Gilbert on one knee, eyes alight with tears and candlelight and the few stars the sky would allow to show on an October night, and George Washington, the man of exact words, knew no word at that moment that would describe the emotion he felt.

“I thought, ah, I thought getting on my knee was cliché,” said Gilbert, his French accent thicker, “but, somehow, I thought honoring my country’s presumed romanticism would be accurate. I, ah, I have thought this over and over and words fail me in both languages now.” He took a deep breath. “I know it is early. I know - I know we have been through a lot. But every time, we have been together, oui? I do not want this to change. And if, in the past, I have been too forward, too much, too  _ me _ , it’s only because you have accepted me every time. I hope I allow you to be as much yourself as you allow me to be myself, without shame and without restraint. I gave myself to you. All I ask today is that you take me forever.”

And with shaky hands, he held up the ring he had stashed away in his dress pants all night, constantly playing with the metal, a cold yet burning reminder of the night to come. He finally got the courage to look up at George.

The man had started to cry around the first minute he had walked in the cupola, only noticing now, wiping away at stubborn tears; and he fell to his knees, and cupped Lafayette’s face with his large hands, and kissed his lips, breathing a “if you’ll have me, I am yours” between frantic kisses.

Lafayette opened teary eyes. “Does it mean yes?”

“You are the cheesiest fiancé anyone could have, sweetheart,” laughed George in a sob, before allowing Lafayette to actually slid the ring on his finger, kissing it after he was done, kissing George, kissing the man he loved, as he was carried down the stairs, to the bedroom, where the sobbing would soon turn to laughing then moaning.

 

The following day, Hercules, John and Alex just received a single pic of a left hand clutching at white sheets, a wedding ring around the finger, daffodils shining in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Je ne peux pas vivre sans toi = I can't live without you.
> 
> That was super cheesy. Actually, it made me super emotional to write. Like really. A very symbolic chapter too. I really recommend you listen to the classical songs I used (Schumann’s Ghost Variations, Debussy's Estampes pago, and the actual proposal is to Saint-Saens Swan, which is one of my favorite pieces). I hope no one was weirded out by switching to Laf's PoV? It's only a one-time occurence, probably.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello ! Welcome back !  
> A shorter chapter today. A breather from yesterday's cheesiness. The aftermath, if you will.  
> Thanks to Elisa. Best of friends. Really.
> 
> To be honest, I really wanted smut.

It was well past eleven, that following Saturday, when John opened his eyes to the now-familiar noise of Alexander scribbling on his notebook next to him. Although Alex prefered to use his laptop (less sheets of paper everywhere, less costs, all around more efficiency), he had noticed that the clicking of his fingers on the keyboard would wake John up, and that writing allowed him to stay in bed longer next to him on the days when John was not working; so he had traded away laptop for paper.

“How long have you been up?” sleepily mumbled John as he stretched.

“A few hours?” answered Alex softly. “Good morning, sleeping beauty”. He leant down and kissed John’s forehead. John threw his arms around Alex’s neck, pulling him in, until Alex had no choice but to straddle him. They kissed a bit, lazily, enjoying the quiet of the morning, the wind blowing outside, the room that smelled of cinnamon and pumpkin pie because of all those damn Halloween candles John kept buying, until the kiss turned a bit more heated, John’s fingernails lightly scrapping at Alex’s skin under the covers, sending shivers down his spine, his tongue caressing Alex’s until the man was putty in his hands, pressing their bodies together. John’s hand trailed down Alex’s body, down his soft belly (the beer did not help. But John liked the softer lines. Alex looked so small and frail when he’d met him), to his rapidly hardening cock, thumbing at the head and the slit that had started to leak a bit of precome. Alex moaned against John’s mouth. John started stroking Alex in rhythm with his own hip thrusts, finally taking his own cock in hand with Alex’s; their breathing turned more shallow and urgent. Alex kept a break from kissing John, but only to bend down and retrieve the lube that was on the floor where they probably had thrown it the day before, handing the bottle to John without a word, resuming his mission of kissing every freckle dusting John’s cheekbones. 

John let go of their cocks, wrapping his arms around Alex’s waist so he could squeeze some lube on his hand and coat his fingers liberally with the cold gel. He threw the bottle to the side and reached behind Alex, who eagerly pushed his ass toward John’s hands. John laughed. “Don’t rush, baby girl, you’re gonna get it anyway.” If anything, it didn’t calm Alex at all, who let out a whine as John slid a finger in, slowly, stretching the ring of muscles, pumping in and out, making sure Alex was comfortable and nice and wet before adding a second finger. He knew Alex could take it. They were in the early stages of their relationship and there were not a lot of nights that didn’t end up with both of them falling asleep on sweat-dampened sheets and fast heartbeats. Alex ground back against John’s fingers, his eyes closed in bliss, and John used his free hand to run his fingers through Alex’s hair, getting wild strands out of his eyes, caressing his cheeks, running a finger along his lips slightly opened on a stream of moans, marvelling at the beauty of the man currently begging for more, a third finger, his cock, whatever, as his fingers brushed at that sweet spot that made him wild. Then Alex started suckling at his finger, a hip thrust as he was fucking himself on John’s fingers making his balls rub against John’s own cock, and he had to use all the willpower he had not to come right there and then. 

John took his fingers out of Alex’s mouth, who growled before bending down and peppering John’s torso with kisses and bites he immediately soothed with his tongue. John extended a hand to the nightstand where lay some condoms and handed it to Alex with a smirk. “Will you do the work for me, baby girl?” Alex ripped the wrapper open, getting a bit up on his knees so he could properly roll the condom, agonizingly slowly, down John’s cock. He whined as the fingers in his ass left and he felt achingly naked and empty, but then something way stiffer was making its way up his hole, and he lost no time sitting fully on John’s cock, making him shudder and almost cry out. Then Alex started using his knees for leverage, until only the head of John’s cock was in, and rocked back down, and again, and again, thighs tensing under the effort, and John just had to lean on his forearms, angled just so Alex’s leaking cock was brushing against his stomach, “you look so beautiful fucking yourself on me, baby”, and Alex was putting on a show, making a point of presenting as prettily as he could, at a slow and languid pace. John just had to wrap an arm around Alex’s waist, keeping the other one on the bed so he could keep steady and not tear his eyes off the incredible sight of his gorgeous boyfriend’s pleasure, and by sneaking his arm around him he pulled him flush against him, cock rubbing between them, and he could nibble at Alex’s earlobe, and just below, where he could feel his pulse racing, where he knew was his weak spot, right as he thrust his hips up, making sure to get Alex’s prostate. The cry that elicited was worth it. “Can you be quiet for me, baby girl?” He took his hand off Alex’s waist so he could wrap it around his cock, in a lazy motion, just like the other man had teased him a few minutes ago. But Alex was not a patient man at all and he tried to use his hand to accompany John’s and speed up the movement, but John just slapped it away, “do you want me to stop, Alexander?” and he shook his head, panting, as John snapped his hips up, again, and again, almost a punishing pace, still barely stroking Alex, who was trying not to sob, until finally John knew he couldn’t take it anymore and he started applying more pressure to his neglected cock, using his spit-slicked hand to bring him over the edge, Alex’s hands gripping tightly John’s curls, kissing him, letting him swallow his scream as both men came together.

 

When they had cleaned up a bit, Alex complaining about the wrinkled notebook that had slid down under them during the act and shutting up with a yelp when John playfully slapped his ass, they quickly got clothes on. They had no plans of going out. It was what Alex liked most about those shared weekends : knowing they had two days to themselves, friends that would come and go, shows that they would or would not watch depending on their stamina, and, lately, John’s enthusiasm for the fall season that he had spread to Hercules. 

Honestly, thought Alex as he stepped into the kitchen, the place looked like two Pinterest-addicted white middle-aged moms had broke into it. Squash everywhere, the smell of cinnamon and vanilla everywhere, the plush plaid Hercules was working on thrown on the couch, candles like they were fearing a blackout (he loved to stare at John’s skin in the candlelight, but would rather die than have to confess).

“Well, look at who’s able to walk, against all odds,” greeted Hercules as John and Alex walked in, holding hands. He took out his earplugs. “There is homemade hot cocoa on the stove,” he added. “Have you seen Laf’s text?”

“No”, said Alex as John all but ran to the stove and poured the hot melted chocolate in two mugs, sprinkling Alex’s with cinnamon and bringing it to him, sitting by his side at the counter. Hercules pulled out his phone, looked for the text, and handed it to them : the picture of a large hand, sporting a simple ring on the fourth finger.

“Holy shit,” marveled John.

“The French jackass did it”, smiled Alexander. 

“I think we should call them”, proposed Hercules. They all nodded, and Hercules put the call on speakerphone.

“ _ Allo,”  _ came the happy voice of a man who just got engaged.

“Congratulations”, they all more or less shouted, Hercules adding a “sweetheart” at the end, Alex adding a “you fucking troublemaker”, as he was prone to do.

“ _ Merci ! Ah, I can’t believe he said yes !” _

“Dude, it was obvious,” said John.

“Did the candles work?” asked Hercules.

“ _ They were fantastic, honey ! It looked like a fairytale. I would have accepted nothing less. Except now George is expecting me to pick them all back up from the lawn and I am not even sure I can walk down the stairs so -” _

They heard Washington’s voice, in the background, “ _ please, Gilbert, spare them… _ ” but Lafayette kept talking, “ _ \- my fiancé is honestly the least fun man I have ever seen. I can’t believe I proposed to a man who has a stick in his -” “oh I’ll show you where the stick is alright”  _ a giggle, and the call ended.

“Ew,” shuddered Alex.

“I know. It’s like listening to your parents have sex,” shuddered John.

“Seriously?” Hercules raised an eyebrow. “You are disturbed,  _ baby girl _ ?”

The couple shut up and drank their cocoa.

 

 

On Sunday, while John was putting some water in a vase for the new bouquet of yellow tulips Alexander had given him without a word for the third Sunday in a row, Alex discovered a load of texts from the Schuyler sisters.

* * *

 

From : The Pegsmaster

Angelica is crying she says you should have warned her

 

From : The Pegsmaster

I swear to God Alex we are on our way to your place I will kick the door down don’t test me

* * *

 

From : Angel-ica

I got a TEXT from LAF telling me I have to get an ENGAGEMENT statement ready for TOMORROW and that he wants ME to keep it a SECRET until then

 

From : Angel-ica

MAYBE I would have liked a HEADS-UP FROM SOMEONE CLOSE TO HIM WHO PROBABLY KNEW ABOUT IT

* * *

 

From : Best of Schuylers

Alexander did you know

 

From : Best of Schuylers

I had to leave Maria legs spread on my own bed because my sister is pitching a fit I hope you are happy with yourself because I am this close to letting her kill you

* * *

 

“The Schuyler sisters are on their way”, calmly said Alex.

“I better put some pants on.” John walked to the bedroom. Alex let his eyes follow him with a smile.

The doorbell rang. Alex opened the door and a hurricane in a coral coat started pounding at his torso with clenched fists. “HOW DID YOU NOT TELL ME! HOW DID I NOT KNOW!”

“Lafayette is in love, Angie. He thinks he is doing well.”

“Shouldn’t the people who work for the White House Communications department be the first to know?” asked Peggy, hugging Hercules who was embroidering the plaid, and sitting at his side. 

“He wanted to keep it all a secret,” answered Hercules. “He is a romantic.”

“There is no romance in politics,” whined Angelica, plopping down on the floor by the coffee table. John handed her a cup of cocoa. “Is there rum in there? Can I have rum?”

“Angelica,” tried Alex, “the wedding can be a huge opportunity to gain popularity and public opinion. We…”

“I know that, you fucking idiot,” Angelica cut him off.

“Have you ever planned a wedding, Alexander?” said Eliza.

“Even better, an unprecedented, gay presidential wedding the whole wide world will have its eyes on?” added Peggy.

Alexander had not. And now, with the Schuyler sisters in his living room, starting to make a list of all that had to be done, all the people that had to be warned, the media storm that was inevitably going to unfurl, well, although he couldn’t blame Lafayette, he kinda understood how the world was going to be turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Alex. Lafayette has put you all in it again. That's the French for you.   
> Honestly, I am very excited about planning that wedding.  
> Thank you to all who sent me messages telling me I converted them to Washette. I am thrilled and sorry.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello ! Thank you for being here ! I had trouble writing. Life gets in the way.  
> Thank you to Elisa, beta reader and motivation coach extraordinaire.
> 
> Honestly the real MVPs of this story are Angelica and Hercules. They are rocks.  
> I will leave you to it.

_President George Washington and Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette are pleased to announce their engagement. The wedding will take place at the White House on July 9th._

 

“You kept it short,” remarked Alex on Monday morning, as he sat at the desk of his new office with Angelica. Lafayette had joined them a bit after 9am, when his phone had started blowing up with calls, everyone fully awoken and having seen the news.

“We wanted to just stick to the facts. It’s not necessary to do something too gushy. The hate mail is already coming in, and the press has only known for two hours,” said Angelica, keeping an eye on the news on Alex’s TV.

“You did well, Angie,” reassured Lafayette. “You can count on George and I to fully cooperate with you.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me in advance.” She wasn’t sure she could away with hitting Lafayette, so she punched Alex on the arm instead.

“What the hell was that for !?” he yelped. “And what the fuck are you all doing in my office anyway?”

“I am hiding from my staff”, simply said Lafayette.

“My new intern is a dumbass and I like to bother you,” shrugged Angelica. “The team is working. I am on media watch. You have a TV.”

Alex shook his head and turned to Laf. “July 9th, then?”

“Ah, I wanted to do it for Bastille day, you know. July 14th. But George said it would sound too political. I told him that if he felt offended we could do it on July 4th but somehow he said it was worse?” He sighed. “So I settled for July 9th. It’s halfway. Not as symbolic. I like symbols.”

“I’d say, mister Orange Blossoms,” scoffed Alex.

“Shut up,” shushed Angelica.

“ _\- I just don’t see how a wedding is supposed to make us forget that this nation is ruled by a gay” “I will stop you right there, Bill, this has nothing to do with sexuality. A wedding is always a wonderful occasion to celebrate love, and to show the stability that is expected of this relationship by all those who fear that the reveal of a bisexual man at the presidency is a sign of instability. May I remind you that the rate of unemployment is at an alltime low and -_ ”

“Holy shit,” whistled Angelica as the anchorwoman pulled up a Twitter poll. 28% uninterested, 40% happy for the couple, 32% thinking it’s a tragedy. “It’s working. Uninterested is good. It’s those who don’t care about what the President does with his private life. That’s 68% people that won’t complain too much.”

“I wonder if we could ride in a carriage like William and Kate did,” wondered Lafayette. This time, Angelica didn’t hesitate and punched him hard on the shoulder.

  


* * *

 

To : Curls <3

Have you seen Laf on TV

 

To : Curls <3

POTUS pardoned the damn turkey and Laf just seemed so confused

 

From : Curls <3

I saw it. He looked very concerned when Washington approached the bird

 

To : Curls <3

He got attacked by geese when he was a kid

 

To : Curls <3

We try to keep that under wraps

 

From : Curls <3

France is wild. Try to be at the shop by 6 ? I love you

* * *

 

It was, indeed, Thanksgiving. October had gone, and with it John’s pleads of dressing Alexander up in a fireman’s outfit for his Halloween party (he had said no. Then said yes when John had mentioned playing with his hose. Now they kept the costume in the closet for a rainy day). November was trouble for Alex, who started to feel the cold and the need to layer up, get wrapped in the thick scarf Hercules had knitted for him, and chug coffee like his life depended on it. November had never meant family and long dinners with laughter and warmth for him.

Thankfully, to John and Hercules the concept of Thanksgiving was a little bit different. John had grown in a traditional family, where, even if his father had never been the merriest of hosts, Thanksgiving meant a night spent with his siblings for a while longer than what was normally allowed before curfew, a night to think of his mother and brother, a night where his heart would feel both bigger and tighter. To Hercules, it was an evening always spent with his family in his younger years, happy times and a first sip of beer with his father when his mother wasn’t watching; but the drift caused by his choices in life now had usually meant going to the pub with his friends, having a drink, then going home to watch the game.

In truth, it was happy that three lonely souls had found each other. Hercules had been cooking all day, remembering his mother’s recipes; John was working, but the coffee shop closed earlier, at 6 instead of 7.30, and Alex was dropping by to go home with him after having spent the afternoon at Constitution Gardens, supposedly working on the speech Washington had to deliver about euthanasia at the University Hospital next week, but really only thinking about that first date with John under the stars.

It had been three months, but it felt longer, like he’d met John before, in another lifetime. Most of his reservations about relationships had crumbled down under the weight of the love he felt for the man sharing his bed and life. It was probably the happiest he’d been in a long time, which was a foreign concept to him, a man who thought that happiness was an irrealistic goal most people mistook for contentment. He hummed quietly to himself as he leant againt a tree, sat on the grass, watching the clouds for a second before he got back to work.

It was 5.53 when he finally looked up at the time on his watch. Quickly gathering his things in the pockets of his huge coat that made him look even smaller - notebooks, pen, his glasses, the bottle of water Hercules always forced on him and demanded he drank during the day - he ran to the coffee shop, coming through the door, red and sweaty, at 5.59, a resigned but fond John handing him a pumpkin spice latte, two extra shots of espresso, extra cinnamon, before locking the door behind him.

 

Alex had never seen as much food in his life, he decided. Well. He had attended a few White House events that were definitely on the opulent side of things but he meant as much food _for him and his makeshift family_. The usual stuffed turkey, cranberry sauce and gravy were on the table with candied sweet potatoes, a green bean casserole and, to Alex’s delight, rice with corn that reminded him with a bittersweet pang of his mother; John had bought sparkling cider, and Alex had tried his best at making a pumpkin pie for dessert under the attentive direction of Hercules.

They sat at the table, John had left little candles everywhere, vanilla, cinnamon, even the faint smell of fallen leaves; Alex couldn’t contain a smile, squeezing his hand under the table.

“Okay. Let’s do this,” said Hercules. “I am thankful for the fact that I get to do what I love, surrounded by jackasses that are as supportive as they are a pain in the ass.”

It was John’s turn. “I am grateful I am independent and have friends I can count on and who accept me as I am.”

Alex cleared his throat. “I am thankful I have a family now.” Both Hercules and John turned to him with eyes that got too wet too quickly. “Now shut the fuck up and eat your turkey,” he grumbled. And eat they did.

Dinner was great. John was almost crying because Alex had been dodging pieces of potato Hercules kept launching at his head, trying to aim at his mouth, using a spoon as a catapult, and the floor was covered with mashed pieces of food; for some reason John had decided that sparkling wine would work to get the stain off the tablecloth from where the cranberry sauce had been spilled when Alex had tried to play footsie with him but had instead kicked Hercules and now a pink fizzling stain adorned the table; so, a pretty normal Thanksgiving dinner considering who the hosts were. That’s when someone knocked on the door. Alex got up to open it.

“Bob?” he explained. He didn’t remember inviting Lafayette’s bodyguard.

“Sorry to disturb, Mr Hamilton. Happy Thanksgiving.” But Bob was not alone. Soon some more men in black were coming in, checking every corner of the appartment, to its inhabitants dumbfounded surprise. Then Alex heard a laugh in the stairway like a wind chime and he knew - of course.

“Alex ! Happy Thanksgiving !” Lafayette launched himself in Alexander’s arms. George Washington himself was following, looking like he was exhausted.

“Mr President,” said Alex as he shook Washington’s hand. “I thought you were both volunteering at the soup kitchen?”

“It’s almost ten, Alex ! We were on our way home, and I thought, why not drop by for dessert !” almost yelled Lafayette.

“Gilbert was a big hit with the elderly and - well - with everyone, literally, tonight. It has put him in a good mood,” explained Washington as Hercules and John got up to shake his hand.

Lafayette only latched on his fiancé’s arm. “At first they were reticent. But then this old lady told me she was looking forward to the wedding ! So I invited her.”

“People really warmed up to you after that,” beamed Washington, kissing Lafayette on the cheek. The door closed quietly. All the men in black had left, except for two who stood by the door keeping watch.

“Alex made pumpkin pie, if you want some,” invited John, simply. They all sat at the table, Alex trying to kick the bits of sweet potato out of sight discreetly, John offering his seat to Washington and pulling up two more chairs (“I can sit on George’s lap, I don’t need -” “Gilbert just take a damn chair”). Hercules served the pie in small plates, not remotely disconcerted by the fact that the President of the United States was having desert with them.

“This is really good, son,” complimented Washington after he took a bite.

Alex blushed and mumbled a “thank you sir”. John shook his head with a grin and turned to Lafayette. “How are the preparations going?”

“Don’t get him started -” yelped Washington.

“WELL,” started Lafayette. “The good thing is we don’t have to book a venue, since the White House is, well, I mean we kinda have full control over the schedule right? Now the number of guests is a huge issue. I wanted a small attendance, maybe 100 to 150 people, but no, George wants a private party, no more than 30 people, honestly - he also insisted on me wearing only one suit ?! He also vetoed riding a horse down the aisle.” They all stared at him. “Actually, I also came here to do something else entirely.”

He got off his chair, walked around the table, and put one knee down in front of Hercules, who let his fork fall to his plate with a clatter. Washington choked on a bite of pie.

“Hercules Mulligan. We have known each other for three months now, but I know you are the only one. The one to walk me down the aisle. The only one with a neat enough signature that this won’t look sloppy. Will you be my best man?”

“I always knew I was the best man here,” said a thoroughly unimpressed Hercules. “But, yes, of course.”

Lafayette literally squealed as he pressed two noisy kisses on each of Hercules’ cheeks. “This is incredible. Ah, _très bien_ . We have seven months to plan. Are you excited ? _Moi oui_ !”

The presidential couple left not long after that, Lafayette beaming at Washington’s side. Alex heard the President’s low voice reverbate in the staircase, “since you like getting on your knees so much…” He slammed the door shut.

 

* * *

 

@TJefferson

Happy Thanksgiving to all ! I am thankful to be working at the service of the people !

 

@AHam

@TJefferson I am thankful I don’t have to see your face everyday anymore and not smell like molten cheese when I get home anymore

 

@TJefferson

I am thankful I have actual taste compared to some.

 

@JLaurens

@TJefferson I am thankful your shitty taste leaves more @AHam for me. Keep @JMadison and your macaroni to yourself

 

@SenLaurens

@JLaurens we have to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moi oui = I am (in this case).
> 
> I did write a Thanksgiving story in February. I need feels. Really.  
> Your comments and messages are more appreciated now than ever !


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, good afternoon, good evening; wherever you are, I hope you have a good whatever.  
> Thank you for all your comments and messages. They were really helpful. I've had a rough couple of days.  
> Many thanks, as always, to Elisa, trash sister and dumpster roomie, for being my North, my South, my East and West, my working week and my Sunday rest. Am I extra? For you I always am.
> 
> I was in a fluffy mood. I hope you are too. The weather's been cold; cuddle with me, have some tea, and read about idiots being in love.

_ We have to talk _ . Four words, as many syllables. Yet you’d have thought John had been punched, the way he froze next to Alex in bed. They had been lying next to each other, engaging in the healthy activity of dissing Thomas Jefferson on Twitter, as all couples should do on Thanksgiving. And suddenly, it felt like John had shrunk, curling up on himself, just the tiniest bit, but Alex had felt it nevertheless and turned to him immediately; John’s eyes were wide, his skin pale in the blue light of the phone screen, his hand tightly clutched around the device. Alex only had to see the name displayed - Senator Laurens - to understand what happened. 

He gently took the phone out of John’s hand. “John. John, are you okay?”

“What does he want,” said John calmly albeit a bit shakily, a statement more than a question. “He’s already told me all he thought of me. What does he want, Alex? What does he want?”

He had gripped Alexander’s wrist tightly, his eyes filled with more panic than fear. “Are you going to answer?” asked Alex, scooting a bit up, so he could lay John’s head down on his chest, playing idly with his curls the way he knew John liked when they were cuddling; the other man almost automatically wrapped his arms around Alex’s waist.

“I can’t,” he answered, his breath hot against Alex’s skin. “But I kinda have to, right? What if he has something important to say? What if something happened to Henry, or Martha, or Mary ? He asked me to never contact them and I haven’t. What if -”

“John,” whispered Alex. “You don’t have to do anything. Your father is an asshole. He treated you like shit. I am pretty sure that if anything happened to your siblings you would have learnt about it from the media and not from him. He doesn’t look like he gives a shit.”

“Then what does he want, Alexander? What does he want?” And Alexander had no answer that would quiet John’s anguish, so he just hugged him a bit tighter, until they fell asleep.

 

They didn’t get an answer for a while. John was tense, keeping an eye on his Twitter feed where he almost never posted anymore; Alex had a lot of work to do but the worried atmosphere at home meant that his writing was angrier, harsher, which was in itself not an easy feat, and he spent a lot of time in rewrites. It helped when Hercules was there, or the Schuyler sisters. But Hercules had best man duties, that apparently involved trying a million types of wine for the dinner party and trying to convince Lafayette not to buy a suit embroidered with an American flag made of tiny sapphires and rubies, which was not only expensive, but also pretty ugly. As for the Schuyler sisters, Angelica had a lot on her plate, Eliza’s work as a kindergarten teacher tired her out and she understandably spent as much time as she could with Maria, and Peggy was there as much as she could but she had her own life. 

Alex and John still had a great time, of course. Domesticity suited them, surprisingly. Alex liked to come home and now that John would be there, reading, watching a stupid TV show (he was rewatching the Nanny these days), smiling as he heard the door open and always greeting him with a kiss; John felt warm and happy when he thought about the mornings he could enjoy Alex’s company, the ones the man actually slept and looked vulnerable and open to him, when he could tangle his legs with his and feel a part of his history, a part of something bigger than both of them. But there were these moments, the moments where John would stare worriedly at his phone, flinching when Alex laid his hand on his thigh, making him wonder about how his father had treated young John back at home, then smiling at him and resuming the conversation, like nothing had happened, like Alex didn’t know he was reading the news from South Carolina every morning when he woke up.

 

In early December, Alex decided that the best way to please John would be to buy a Christmas tree. He himself wasn’t too keen on decorating and celebrating, had never much seen the appeal, and John had sensed that, never pushing him, seemingly content with lighting gingerbread-scented candles, cooking large batches of cookies and snuggling on the couch with him under plush green-and-red blankets. But last night John had shared with Alex a memory of Christmas passed with his siblings, his mom when she was still alive, of light and warmth and eggnog and watching the Sound of Music, and told him how he felt Christmas, depsite his religious upbringing, was not about celebrating Christ but about being together during the longest and coldest night; so, Alex was buying a tree, ornaments, and he might even let John hang some mistletoe on the doorframe if it meant earning a kiss or two more. His salary as speechwriter was consequent, he could afford to splurge.

So when John came home from work that Saturday, smelling like peppermint syrup, he was greeted by the sight of Alex and Hercules trying to make sure the giant tree in the corner of their living room stood straight and did not whip people who sat on the couch with the branches; Peggy and Eliza were untangling fairy lights while Maria was fishing tinsel out of a giant shopping bag. He could smell cocoa in the hair and, turning his head, saw Angelica standing over a pan, stirring with a wooden spoon, a book in her free hand that she was intently reading. He felt his chest tighten and warmth flood his cheeks, cold from the winter air.

“Hello, John !” greeted Eliza, shooting him the brightest smile.

“Hello, Eliza, girls,” he nodded to them all, “what is happening?”

“It’s Christmas, John,” said Peggy slowly, as if he could have forgotten.

“The whole month we celebrate consumerism under the disguise of religious celebration”, added Maria.

“What Marx here means is, we thought Christmas should be celebrated with the ones you love, right?” said Eliza. “We voted and you are our resident Christmas expert. We are at your orders, Laurens.”

John crossed the room in a few steps, to Alexander who was trying to hide his deep blush behind the emerald branches of the tree. He cupped his burning cheeks with his cold hands and kissed him, hard, only breaking the kiss to breathe, resting his forehead against Alex’s, muttering “what have I done to deserve you?”

“Shut up, Sappy Pants, and lead your team,” answered Alex, who didn’t even try to hide his smile, patting John’s butt as he turned to his friends.

Five minutes later, John’s army was ready for battle. Angelica had poured the cocoa and tea for those who prefered into seven mugs, John had changed into a much more comfortable sweatpants and shirt combo, Eliza had put on carols, and Peggy and Maria had sorted out the ornaments while Hercules had lit the candles in the dimming daylight. John was reminded of his mom, taking sugar cookies out of the oven, but quickly shook the idea out of his head. The doorbell rang, Alexander opening the door to a fashionably late Lafayette (Bob stayed behind the door. He had probably abandoned the idea of them being a threat to the First Gentleman. Or secretly hoped they would shoot him and he could help them dispose of the body), bearing an assortment of gingerbread men, truffles and meringues, shrugging his coat off, and hugging them all, one after another, including a slightly bewildered Maria who had never seen him but on the news on TV.

John smiled at his friends (family?). They all smiled right back at him. “What the fuck are we all smiling for,” asked Alexander. Hercules punched his shoulder.

 

To John it looked like something out of a Christmas special. Maria and Eliza hanging baubles, laughing at each other, their hands always seeming to find each other with ease for a squeeze or a stroke of a cheek; Peggy and her newly-made tinsel crown, sitting on Hercules’ shoulders as she weaved fairy lights around the window; Angelica clinically surveying the tree decorations and handing Alex a cheesy raindeer ornament that he put on the tree on the spot she was pointing at; Lafayette leaping about as Santa Baby played, gleefully assembling an obnoxious train toy that was supposed to go on rails around the foot of the tree and entertain them with shrill renditions of Christmas songs. John had finished decorating the corridor and hanging the aforementioned mistletoe, standing on a chair, Alex watching him warily, probably ready to run and catch him at a moment’s notice. But finally, the tree was done, and they only had to put the star at the top and they let John do it, helped up by Hercules, Alexander hovering around, worried the lot of them, tree, John, Hercules, would topple over, but they didn’t and Lafayette’s delighted laugh could probably be heard from the White House.

 

They all decided to stay the evening, it was late already anyway, and watch TV together as the Christmas movies had started to invade the networks and it was Harry Potter night; when John decided to check on his phone and saw the 3 missed calls from a number he had deleted but knew by heart anyway and belonged to his dad. He grasped Alexander’s thigh tightly as he got up, his eyes pleading for him not to follow, and walked to their room.

Alexander felt like it was taking hours; in reality Harry hadn’t even had time to have his first Quidditch lesson that John was already sitting back down on the couch, cuddling close to Alex, his phone discarded on the coffee table. Alex stroked his side idly with his thumb, leaving a kiss in John’s hair, while Peggy complained about the absolute under representation of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, Maria barging in on Dumbledore’s skewed sense of equity, until they finally all ended up taking Pottermore quizzes on their phones, Lafayette complaining about the lack of info on Beauxbatons but making sure everyone knew he would look great in their uniform anyway. A normal Saturday evening at the Mulligan-Hamilton-Laurens residence.

Everyone left after Prisoner of Azkaban, vowing to return the next Saturday to finish the movie marathon. It took some time, everyone having to walk under the mistletoe and therefore having to kiss John who had decided that was his spot now, Alex hurrying them all along so he was the last one to kiss his boyfriend. The door closed behind Peggy, and they all want to bed; once lying, undressed and content, Alex patiently waited for John to talk. Who are we kidding ? He jumped at the man.

“Was it your father, John?”

“Gee, baby girl, way to be subtle,” said John with a smile, weary but not angry, and Alex felt relieved.

“That’s me, Alexander Tactful Hamilton. What did he want?” pressed Alex.

“He wants us to join him for lunch tomorrow.”

“Did you say yes?”

“Yes.” And through that simple word, John managed to convey all his fear and worry and, most importantly, his inability to disobey to what stayed, if only in blood, his father; Alex couldn’t put words on it, but he understood subconsciously and nodded, although John couldn’t see him in the dark room.

“I hope he likes my ripped jeans and leather jacket,” he said eventually.

“My rebel with a heart of gold,” moaned John playfully, and Alex did his best to make him swallow his dread (amongst other things).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Christmas ritual seems overly complicated but it's actually mine. I am super strict when it comes to Christmas and decorating. Christmas pajamas, carols, tea and cookies, and I'll kill whoever tries to put the star on the top because that's my job.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all ! I am happy you are still with me. You are all so sweet with your comments and kudos and messages.  
> Elisa, my noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; thank you. 
> 
> This chapter, we meet Henry Laurens. I hate the guy. So, some slight trigger warnings here, for homophobia, mentions of past probable abuse.

It was 11.15am, they had to meet Henry Laurens at midday sharp at one of DC’s best restaurants, so naturally Alexander was still in his boxers and a Columbia shirt. John was ready in sensible slacks and a button-up, chugging his third cup of coffee, black ; Alex was moodily typing an answer on his laptop to some idiot or another who thought anonymity gave him the right to have a different opinion than Alex’s. John knew it would take about 30 minutes to ride to the restaurant, so he did what he had to do. He shut down Alexander’s laptop and pointed to the bathroom with a no-nonsense frown he had only ever used with his little brother.

“I can’t believe he didn’t murder you,” marveled Hercules as the bathroom door slammed shut. “Only with you, John. Only with you”.

John smiled in victory, until he remembered why he was actually in no mood to smile and his stomach once again formed knots in his belly. 

 

They arrived at the restaurant at 11.55. It was not far from Capitol Hill, and was outrageously expensive, of course. Any chance Henry had to flaunt his old money and privilege. 

John had succeded in having Alex wear something  _ correct _ ; not the dreaded leather jacket, which John was not even sure he owned anyway, and Alex sure as hell was not going to wear a button-up, but his pants did not have holes in them and his dark crimson sweater made him look less pale and tired. They entered the restaurant and Alex squeezed his hand as John told his name to the maître d’; she led them to a round table in an isolated corner where Senator Laurens was waiting for them. Alex felt John let his hand go and stand up straighter as the waitress took their coats. 

John’s father, to his son, looked as formidable as ever. Taller than John, broad shoulders and a mane of fine whitening hair, with eyes that looked through every lie you’d ever told and straight to the place you wanted to hide the most; large hands that knew exactly where and how to hit so that no mark could be apparent; and cutting words that took your breath away with their almighty truth. If Father told you so, then it had to be true.

To Alex, the man looked wiry and worn-out; his smooth hair made it look like he was trying too hard, and his movements as he got up were too perfunctory to seem natural and smooth. His gaze made him think of vulture’s, scanning the room to find the weak there and prey on its dead flesh. As Henry extended a hand in John’s direction, when John had obviously been half-expecting a hug and winced at the gesture, Alex couldn’t avoid thinking of how John would flinch away from his hand the past week and imagining Henry’s hand, strong and self-righteous, on John’s cheek where he had been breathing butterfly kisses all night. Alex started to boil with fury.

Henry reluctantly went to shake Alex’s hand. “And you are Jack’s friend, I suppose?”

“Alexander Hamilton. John’s boyfriend.”

“I see.” His lips tightened, a white angry line. He sat back down, gesturing for them to do the same. “I see you still haven’t had time for a proper haircut, Jack. You look like a hippie.”

Alex saw John tuck a loose curl behind his ear, mechanically. “I am sorry, Father. How are the kids?”

“What should it matter to you,” frowned Henry as he looked intently at the menu. “The salads here are excellent.”

“It matters because I miss them,” answered John on the same tone. “I think I’ll try the roast chicken.”

“They don’t matter enough to you that you would resume your law studies and see the error of your ways,” said Henry with finality as he closed the menu and finally looked at his son. “Really, Jack, have the salad. I think that’s enough winter fat as it is, hmm?”

This was a surreal conversation to Alex. He never had to be accountable for his actions to anyone but himself, which was already a higher expectation than anyone to be honest, but to see John physically curl up on himself until he looks nine and his father is still the one holding the strings? He couldn’t be witness to that. But John kicked him lightly under the table, and he shut up and could only stare at Henry, trying to attract his loathing and despise to himself, he can take it, but not John, leave John alone.

That was when the waitress arrived and asked if they had made their choice. Alex didn’t know, didn’t care; he took a look at the menu and ordered the priciest thing,  _ veau Marengo _ , purely out of spite. Henry ordered the salmon fillet and John croaked out a “Caesar salad, dressing on the side” that made Alex want to launch his polished fork into Henry’s eye. The waitress walked away.

“I am happy to see you can still come to your senses, Jacky boy,” self-congratulated Henry with a satisfied smile. “And you, uh, Alexander? What do you do?”

“I am President Washington’s speechwriter, sir,” Alexander managed to say without yelling.

“You are  _ that _ Hamilton, then,” says Henry with a frown. “I didn’t think your kind of people had access to that much power, really. But with a homo at the head of our country, really, what else could be expected?”

John stood up abruptly. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.” He took off.

“John…” called Alex.

“Let him be,” said Henry, reclining back in his chair. “Another one of his tantrums. I thought I’d made him outgrow the habit.”

Alex threw his napkin to the side and stalked off after John.

 

Alex didn’t see John when he walked into the bathroom. He only found him when he walked past the last stall and two hands pulled him, cupping his jaw. The bathroom was not like the one at the bar a few months prior; this one smelt of fresh mint, stupid instrumental Christmas songs were playing on a speaker somewhere, and Alex was pretty sure no one had peed in the sink instead of the actual toilet. As John was biting desperately at his lower lip, Alex ran a thumb across his cheeks, heart breaking when he felt the wet stream of tears he had expected but still didn’t want to be there; he couldn’t suppress a surprised moan as John licked his way into his mouth while fumbling with Alex’s belt, snaking a hand in through the fly, stroking Alex’s cock awake.

“John, you’re upset, it’s not the right time to…” he tried to whisper.

“Let me get it,” moaned John against his mouth. “Let me be good to you, please, baby girl, please.”

And who was Alexander to say no to this? His body responded immediately, heat pooling low in his belly, hands clutching at John’s hair that much tighter that John whined and purred, slamming Alexander against the shut door of the stall. He felt John’s free hand take his and guide it - guide it down John’s back, lower in his boxers, when had he even undone his pants? and then even lower -

“John,” warned Alex, “we’ve always done it the other way around, are you sure…”

“I know what I want, Alexander,” hissed John, raw and greedy, and Alex couldn’t argue because his tongue was caressing his again, taking charge. Alex took his fingers out of John’s boxers, which earned him a growl, that he silenced pretty quick by nudging a finger at John’s lips, who got the memo pretty quick, opening his mouth and sucking in Alexander’s finger, then a second, raising an eyebrow to ask for a third, and if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing Alex had ever seen. Once he was sure his fingers were nice and wet, he slid John’s pants and boxers down to mid-thigh with one move, using his leg to part John’s, losing no time in nudging his finger at John’s entrance; he hoped Henry liked cold salmon, because he was not sparing time prepping his boyfriend.

If Alexander had planned on taking his time, John was of a different mind. He was grinding down on Alexander’s finger, begged for a second one, and  _ ordered _ the third one in by nipping viciously at Alex’s earlobe. “More, I want more,” he panted in Alex’s ear, Alex thrusting his hips wildly against John’s hand in rhythm with his own fingers pumping in John’s ass. “What do you want, John?” he hummed in his ear, as a sob escaped John’s parted lips with a particularly lucky stroke on his prostate. “I want to remember I am yours when I sit my ass back down on that chair,” gasped John, and Alex almost saw stars; John bent down a little to retrieve a condom from his back pocket and handed it to Alex.

“Were you actually planning on getting fucked while your father waited?” asked Alex, a little breathless, as he lowered his pants and boxers, rolling the condom down on his cock.

“Being a spiteful little shit is a family trait,” huffed John as he turned his back to Alex, resting his leg up on the bowl so Alex could get the best angle, and they had never done that yet and Alex thought he might come before even actually starting. But he pressed the head of his cock to John’s hole, and John was pushing back until Alex was halfway in, and John whined “please, I need it, I need  _ you _ ”, and Alex pushed in slowly until he was fully sheathed in. John grinded on him, straightening up so his back was flush against Alex’s front. Alex let his hand fall to John’s cock, stroking him, smearing the precome that was abundantly leaking on his fingers, putting them to his mouth; and John shuddered and moaned seeing that, right as Alex pulled out and pushed back in immediately, a hand on John’s hip, the other returning immediately to his cock. 

They didn’t last long, excited by the situation and the urgency. All it took was Alex biting hard at John’s neck, growling “mine, John, all mine”, and John spilled in his hand, leading Alexander to the edge too, coming hard in John’s ass. They got rid of the condom, quickly washed their hands, rearranging a strand of hair here, kissing a hickey and hiding it behind the lapel of the shirt there, and got out of the bathroom.

The dishes were served and Henry was not hiding his impatience. “Took you long enough,” he said angrily.

“I let John indulge in his tantrum,” snarled Alex, and John was reminded of a hound guarding his territory and it made him smile.

 

Apparently, one was the only amount of smiles Henry could take from his son, because he put his cutlery down, and leaned on the table. “Let’s cut to the chase, Jack.”

“It’s John,” replied John drily.

Henry raised his eyes to his son’s face. “Are you answering back to your father, boy?”

“I thought I had no father anymore.”

The atmosphere went from chilly to icy.

“Which brings me to my main point,” said Henry. “It’s been brought to my attention that you have been… engaging in politics, so to speak. Governor Johnson saw you at the White House. I have been told you are familiar with the President’s new beau. Getting attention to yourself on the Twitter. And now, buggering the emigrant speechwriter. I am giving you a chance to come home, boy, to your brothers and sister, and wipe your slate clean.”

John took a deep breath. Rose up. “I have been waiting a long time for you to tell me that, sir. I thought I would not be another of your political campaign. I was apparently wrong. Keep your home, Henry, it’s only a home to yourself.” He walked away from his untouched Caesar salad, dressing on the side, his lonely, bitter excuse for a father, and asked the waitress for Alex and his’ coats, turning one last time to Henry Laurens : “I would avoid the third stall, sir. I heard a Senator’s son was seen there getting it from behind.” He looked at Alexander. “Babe?”

Alex stood up and smiled blissfully at Henry. “If you shook off the stick that’s up your ass, sir, do consider replacing it with a dick. Not that you’d know what they look like.” He put on the coat the waitress was handing him. “Thank you for lunch, Henry. I fully intend on marrying your son one day.” John was waiting for him outside. Snow had started to fall in soft flakes. John took his hand with a smile. “Do you want to go make out in Constitution Gardens?” he asked Alex, who nodded enthusiastically. 

On the way, they stopped to grab two burgers and a large helping of fries, that they fed each other, sitting against a tree in the park, letting the snow fall on the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really happy they fucked while Henry was a miserable idiot in his corner.  
> And, you know me by now, here comes mama Pauline : use protection, kids. Wrap it before you tap it. *cool white soccer mom gesture*
> 
> As always, I am in love with your comments and messages. Don't hesitate.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good day, good afternoon, good evening ! I hope you're all doing great.  
> Thank you all for your comments, kudos, messages, even the ones who just say "I love your printer daddy fic" because if this is my legacy then so be it.   
> Thank you to Elisa, my sister; I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride.   
> This chapter is fluffy. A Christmas chapter. Warm and cinnamon-scented.  
> It is also dedicated to Jessica. You'll know why, macaroni girl.

_ “- and as we all know, Mr President, the First Lady was always the one making the Christmas tree, did Gilbert have a hand in this one?” _

_ “Absolutely, he was the one to chose the theme, which was “Celebrating differences”, which is such an important topic to us. We asked children all over the country to tell us about what made them feel like they stood out and that they would like to feel stronger about, and all the letters turned out incredible - a kid in Michigan actually sent us an ornament he made with his mom that represents his wheelchair. Gilbert has worked out to include all those aspects in the decorations this year and we invited as many of those who answered as we could, with their parents, to join us for our pre-Christmas afternoon.” _

_ “The tree looks stunning. I saw so many little flags I didn’t know about ! I had to look them up.” _

_ “You and I both, Jimmy. We still have much to learn as far as representation goes.” _

_ “Will you and your fiancé fly to France for the holiday season?” _

_ “We feel like our place is here. Neither he and I have close family, we are just starting to build our own. We have decided to spend Christmas with people we love, a family we chose, in a way.” _

 

Alex felt John kiss his cheek from where he was cuddled against him on the couch. They were watching Washington on TV. He was great. Serious, but friendly. His eyes lit up anytime the wedding was mentioned. It did feel pretty unreal that they were going to spend Christmas Eve with the President, but there was not much Lafayette was unable to have him do, and Lafayette had decided there was no way he wasn’t spending the night with his friends AND the man of his life, so that was what would happen. In two days, they would all be here, in the appartment with its cinnamon and vanilla smells, opening the boxes John was manically arranging and re-arranging under the tree so they looked  _ just right, Alex, do you think I should stack them up by size or by person, babe are you listening to me _ , and that Hercules kept messing with because he liked the mess. They had decided against Mount Vernon; the place felt too big. Lafayette had not had time to decorate. They all felt more at home here, where their relationship had built.

After the Henry Laurens debacle, they hadn’t talked about it much. They didn’t feel the need to. John had blocked his father from all social media, blocked his number, and Alex had cuddled him just that little bit harder that night. Where there was love, there was family. To Alex, it was as simple as that. Whether it was Hercules knitting him a scarf, Lafayette calling to ask if he liked oysters for Christmas dinner, or John handing him a cup of coffee he’d prepared in advance when Alex was joining him at the shop before going home together, there was love. Alex couldn’t stop thinking about what he had told Henry about marrying John. There was definitely provocation in it, but like all provocations, didn’t it hold just the slightest bit of truth? Seeing friends get married always brings out the sappiness in those around. Maybe he was a collateral damage of the presidential wedding. That had to be it.

 

* * *

 

@TJefferson

I hope you all have a great Christmas ! Quiet dinner with @JMadison tonight, we’ll be back at the service of the people on Jan 2nd !

 

@AHam

@TJefferson do you have to say Christmas? Can’t you say Happy Holidays and be more inclusive? smh you’re the worst

 

@AHam

Happy holidays to ALL. Let’s ALL celebrate living TOGETHER !

* * *

 

“Merry Christmas,” said Alex as he saw John emerge from the bedroom, his hair a mess. He was sitting cross-legged on the couch, getting his ass handed to him by Hercules at Mario Kart.

“Don’t you mean “Happy Holidays”, babe?” said John as he kissed the top of Alex’s head, walking a bit sleepily to the kitchen. 

“I see you check your Twitter feed,” rejoiced Alex. “I was just fucking with Jefferson. Christmas isn’t really one of my  _ casus belli _ but as a government official he should try harder. I mean, we did all this representation campaign for a reason. It’s not my fault his brain isn’t his best attribute. If the way Madison keeps dating him is any indication, I think I know what his main feature is.”

“Oh, yes, talking about Jefferson’s dick is exactly how I wanted to start my day,” moaned John as he dropped on the couch, fresh cup of coffee in hand.

“I am surprised that it’s actually how many mornings start out,” remarked Hercules, bumping Alex into the river.

“I was wondering about that too,” said John. “I am starting to be worried, Alex. I am not against a  _ ménage à trois _ , but if this one involves eating mac n cheese with additional ingredients that make it sticky, I am putting my foot down.”

Alex screamed in horror, throwing his controller to the ground. Hercules started laughing until his eyes filled with tears. “His special ingredient is NUTmeg”, he whispered. John choked on his coffee. Alexander locked himself in the bathroom. It was a great start to the morning.

 

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Can you keep open the door we are downstairs

 

To : Baguette Kisser

WTF can’t you knock like a normal person I swear Laf you are so extra

 

From : Baguette Kisser

_ Va te faire foutre _ my arms are full and Bob is typing this

* * *

 

“Why don’t you just ask Bob to knock?” asked John as Laf pushed the door open, arms full of artfully-wrapped boxes, grocery bags and a case of wine. 

“He doesn’t knock,” answered Lafayette, putting down his stuff on the kitchen table. “I swear to God, the man just bangs his fist against the door like he has a warrant. I don’t want to attract attention to the flat, Secret Services will already be all around the building by the time George joins us.” For a man who didn’t want to draw attention to himself, the Santa hat was probably not the best idea. But who were they to judge, really, when John had convinced Alex to join in on the fun by offering him reindeer slippers. 

They all fell into place pretty easily. Lafayette and Hercules were preparing the turkey, singing along to the day-long Bublé marathon the radio seemed to be having. Alexander was doing his best opening the oysters, mainly trying not to slash his palm open with the tiny knife, no one wanting to spend their night in the emergency room of the hospital. John was following to the letter the recipe Lafayette had given him for a  _ bûche de Noël _ , a chocolate Yule log, that involved much more butter than was healthy, probably.

By the time they heard the tell-tale sound of a car stopping in front of the building, followed by footsteps in the staircase, more than one person although the number of people seemed to decrease the closer they got to the appartment, and then a knock at the door, the table was ready. Candles were lit. The coffee table was loaded with empty glasses and a variety of snacks. Lafayette walked to the door and opened it and there was George Washington in all his suited-up glory, whose face split into a smile as he saw his fiancé and honest-to-god put a hand on his back and dipped him, kissing him full on the mouth. Lafayette’s grin as he got back to a standing position could have lit up the word. Washington extended a hand at Hercules, who had been standing in the kitchen doorway. “Mr Mulligan. I hadn’t seen you. Merry Christmas!”

Hercules shoot his head with a knowing smile. “No problem, Mr President. Merry Christmas to you.” 

Washington went to shake hands with John and Alex. Lafayette took his suit jacket off him and handed him a sweater. “No,” said Washington. “It’s cute that you think you have a choice,  _ mon chéri _ ,” hummed Lafayette. Washington sighed as he put on the ridiculous Christmas sweater in all its reindeer glory. Alex failed to suppress a laugh. Washington eyed him. “At least I match your slippers, son.” That was fair game, thought Alexander, and he shrugged good-naturedly. “I guess we both know how to make concessions, sir,” he nodded. Washington squeezed at his shoulder with a grin.

 

Lafayette had brought excellent white wine as well as oysters, smoked salmon and foie gras that they had prepared as appetizers. Alex had many moral qualms about foie gras in particular, even as Lafayette talked animatedly about how he would help her grandmother make her own. They all had a taste of it though, mostly to please him, which seemed to make him happy, his head falling contentedly on Washington’s shoulder. The atmosphere was very relaxed, Alexander and Washington discussing together the new healthcare bill that the President wanted to pass, despite John’s warning of “no politics tonight”. Lafayette, Hercules and John were chatting about the wedding plans.

Lafayette got up to make sure the turkey was roasting nicely, his glass of wine in his hand. Washington smiled at them all and excused himself, joining his fiancé in the kitchen, putting a hand on his hip. Lafayette was gently swaying to the jazz the computer was gently playing in the appartment, and the couple slowly danced, although it was more shifting from one feet to the other in rhythm with the snare drum, Washington finally twirling Lafayette who giggled. John smiled. If the press got a shot of that, he thought, there would be no doubt that the wedding was no publicity stunt.

Dinner was great. The stuffed turkey tasted amazing, with mashed potatoes and carrots Hercules had cooked with sesame seeds and honey; honestly, Alex thought he’d never get enough. Wine was still flowing as well as champagne; Lafayette had all but reverted to his native language, feeding Hercules bits of his turkey under the jealous gaze of his fiancé, who was telling John and Alex about his childhood in Virginia in fond words. Hercules and John cleared the dishes, cutting the  _ bûche _ into equal parts, taking mince pies out of the pantry, putting the plates in front of each guest.

“ _ C’est comme à la maison _ ,” sighed Lafayette, closing in his eyes as he took a bite of the chocolate dessert. Washington brought a hand to Laf’s cheek with a smile.

“This is really good, John,” he agreed. “I am really happy to share all this with you.”

They toasted (once again) to that. 

“So, have you finally decided on the size of the party?” asked Alex around a mouthful of chocolate.

“I think so,” smiled Washington. “We figured a fairly private party was best, you know? Just us, the best men, the groomsmen, a few friends. Gilbert doesn’t have any relatives. Me neither.”

“ _ Bien sûr _ ,” chimed in Lafayette, “John and you will be my groomsmen, right?”

They nodded, a bit taken aback. Lafayette laughed. “Two groomsmen dating each other ! We could do a double wedding.” He bounced on his seat and turned to Washington. “We could ABSOLUTELY do a double wedding ! George ! This is a  _ superbe idée _ !”

“I think that’s enough wine for you and not enough for me,” answered Washington, taking Lafayette’s glass out of his hand and downing it in one go. 

 

They all stumbled a bit drunkenly to the living room, except for John, who appeared a minute later with a tray loaded with glasses full of a white mixture. 

“Eggnog !” cheered Hercules happily, taking a glass without waiting for the others.

“ _ Oh mon Dieu _ ,” frowned Lafayette. “Raw eggs. I have never tried that.”

“Don’t be a heathen, Gilbert, you’ll like it”, said Washington as he took a sip.

“I don’t want to be kissing a man that tastes like raw eggs,” whined Laf.

“If you drink yours, it will cancel the taste out,” tried the President. The drunk Frenchman failed to see the fail in that plan and took a sip. 

“This one is for you, Alex,” said John, handing a slightly whiter glass to Alexander, who sniffed at it. “Coquito ?” he muttered excitedly, staring at John with wide eyes, who just leaned in and whispered in his ear “ _ Feliz Navidad, niña _ .” Alex had to cross his legs awkwardly, for here it was, the Christmas boner.

“Isn’t it time to open the gifts?” asked Hercules.

“It’s not midnight yet,” replied Washington, looking at his watch.

“Do you still believe in Santa, Mr President ?” cheekily joked John.

“I could have you executed, Mr Laurens,” said Washington in a stern tone, but his eyes were twinkling.

“I will fight all of the Secret Service,” joyfully announced Alexander to nobody in particular. Actually, it sounded like this was more a general statement than a response to Washington.

Hercules was sitting by the tree and started playing Santa, handing presents to all those sitting there. A few presents remained, but they were for the Schuyler sisters, who were having Christmas with their family and would only return in two days.

For a minute, all that could be heard were the sounds of Christmas wrapping being torn to shreds and delighted exclamations. Lafayette held up the new coral cashmere scarf John and Alex had bought him together, wrapping it immediately around his neck, then the Miles Davis vinyl Hercules had gotten him; he choked up a bit and kissed Hercules on the cheek tenderly. He then opened the small envelope with his name on it Washington had carefully put under the tree, and took out two plane tickets. “France?” 

“I thought,” blushed Washington, “that maybe, for our honeymoon, you could make me visit your Auvergne?” 

“There’s not much to do in Auvergne,” muttered Lafayette with a shrug.

“Then we’ll have to make our own fun,” grinned Washington. There was a collective groan as Lafayette launched himself at his fiancé and all but glued their lips together.

Hercules opened his gifts : a brand new sewing machine from Washington, who had been told by Lafayette that Hercules’ old one was seriously dying, a blender from Alexander, a new beanie from John, and noise-cancelling earphones from Lafayette who winked at him while Hercules chuckled.

Washington they’d had a hard time finding presents for; what do you give to a man who already has it all? They’d all agreed to ask Lafayette. The answer had surprised them. He laughed with pleasure as he unwrapped the set of French recipes book they had gotten him; Laf gave them a thumbs up. Apparently, the man liked to cook. The more you know. As for Lafayette, he apologized for not bringing the present to the appartment, as apparently, the present was a new grand piano. Figured.

John opened his gifts. Hercules had gotten him a candle-making kit, which made Alex huff; Lafayette and Washington had actually offered him a real expresso machine, that ground beans; as for Alex, he was blushing as John unwrapped carefully the small jewelry box containing a small gold bracelet. “I just thought it would look great on your skin,” muttered Alex, “this is stupid.” “It’s not stupid, and I love it,” said John, a bit emotional, as he put it on.

Alex finally opened his own boxes. From Lafayette and Washington, a new laptop. He stared at

them incredulously. They just waved at him, Lafayette still in Washington’s lap. Hercules had gotten him a pair of sneakers - his drunken resolution of joining him on his weekend runs did not fall on deaf ears, unfortunately for him. John, on the other hand, John was as perfect as ever. He weighed in his hand the thick photo album, and opened to the first page, where he read, in John’s clean handwriting, “The family is the test of freedom; because the family is the only thing that the free man makes for himself and by himself.” He turned the page and saw a picture of himself, sitting with his back to a tree, in the now familiar Constitution Gardens, snow falling around him as he fished in a paper bag, that John had probably sneakily snapped with his phone after that horrible lunch with his father; and underneath, “to many more. Yours, John”. 

There was much hugging and kissing after that. The alcohol helped. They spent another hour talking, but the night was getting late; Lafayette was getting cuddly, Washington decided that it was time to go home for them. Maybe more the White House than Mount Vernon, as he already felt guilty enough for keeping his staff up on Christmas night and it would be easier to send them home that way. They walked to the door, having to stop and kiss under the mistletoe; then they were gone, with a joyful yell of “ _ Joyeux Noël, mes amis! _ ”. 

They all went to bed, drunk and warm; they let the cleaning to their future selves. And Hercules was thankful for the noise-cancelling headphones, and sent Laf a quick text telling him so, because there were Christmas celebrations in the room next door he didn’t want to join in at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Va te faire foutre = fuck you  
> C'est comme à la maison = this feels like home  
> Bien sûr = of course  
> Superbe idée = wonderful idea  
> Oh mon dieu = Oh my god  
> Feliz Navidad, niña = merry Christmas, baby girl  
> Joyeux Noël mes amis = Merry Christmas, friends
> 
> When I started this fic, it was about two idiots falling in love and going through daily life. Now it's about home and family. Uh. It's a journey for me too.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all ! Good morning, afternoon, evening, you know the drift, time zones suck.  
> Elisa, my world, my thoughts, my arms, my breath, my future. Thank you. Truly.
> 
> I dedicate this chapter to Kai (some of these ideas are yours), and my wife. Thank you for the help with this writer's block, liebling.

* * *

GroupChat : do NOT invite Laf

 

AHam : that’s a stupid name for a groupchat

J-Lo : honey you invited Laf twice already bc you thought he’d left our normal groupchat

HercSmash : how awkward would it be if you asked him to prepare his own stag party

AHam : you know we’re just going to end up in a bar and drink right

HercSmash : holy shit Hamilton I will kick your ass out of this chat

_ AHam is typing… _

_ AHam is typing… _

_ AHam is typing… _

HercSmash : if you are actually planning on sending 500 words on the futility of stag party I am raising your rent by 200%

AHam : stag party sounds great

HercSmash : so I was thinking laser tag with the Schuyler sisters

HercSmash : it’s easier since we can book the whole place and not worry about people shooting the First Gentleman

Pegster : I was wondering why you’d invited me to this group but now I see the appeal

Pegster : but be warned Angelica doesn’t fuck around when it comes to laser tag

Liza : language

J-Lo : sorry lots of customers but yes laser tag is A+

Angie : HOLY FUCK I CAN’T WAIT TO SHOOT ALEXANDER

Pegster : language

AHam : Angelica you know it’s only a game right

AHam : John will protect me

J-Lo : you’re on your own buddy I am not getting in Angelica’s way

AHam : Herc? my best man, my best friend, my brother?

HercSmash : I’m afraid of Angelica, I’m comfortable with letting you down

AHam : I am betrayed

AHam : outgunned

AHam : outmanned

Pegster : how do you live with him

AHam : outnumbered

J-Lo : the sex is amazing

AHam : I’ll take whatever comfort I can, thanks John

* * *

 

Life kept on moving. New Year’s Eve had come and gone with its usual lot of hangovers and drunken debates on the necessity of resolutions, Eliza believing that a landmark was a great idea to measure the year’s success, Alex yelling that change was an ungoing fight and not something one could mark off their list after a year of efforts; there was truth in both of them and John had managed to get Alexander off the table before he knocked all the glasses off it in his passionate flailing.

Eleven days later, Alex’s birthday had been a very small business. Actually, he’d kept it all under wraps, only waiting until everyone was home to ask for his “birthday beer”, which was met by curious stares from Hercules and John, to which he’d merely shrugged and said “yeah, I’m 26 today”. Hercules had bolted out of the room to try and get a cake from somewhere before the shops closed, and John had screamed for a good half hour at Alex, who still didn’t understand what the fuss was about,  _ it’s only a birthday, John, it means nothing, time is relative and a human construction, but if you insist on giving me a birthday gift _ , and it had indeed ended with Alex’s cock down John’s throat. 

The Schuyler sisters were becoming a fixture in their appartment, too. Angelica liked to drop by to blow off some steam after work, resting her legs in Alex’s lap while complaining about her team and Lafayette, before usually calling him, officially to make sure he hadn’t done anything stupid that day, but in truth, because she liked the French idiot and their calls quickly turned into wit battles, that Lafayette often ended with “see you tomorrow,  _ mon coeur _ , I gotta leak some nudes now” or “I’ll call you later, I’ve got to set up the webcam in our bedroom, but you can find me live on the internet with George if need be.” Eliza would come by, with or without Maria according to schedule, because she liked to make sure the boys had enough to eat and the fridge was not only full of beer; Alex wondered if she thought they were some of their kindergartners, especially as John and Hercules were pretty great at cooking and Hercules loved fresh produce, but John had a theory that Eliza was actually spying on Peggy. The youngest Schuyler sister was there most nights, to everyone’s delight. Hercules was teaching her how to knit, and she tried to teach him how to dance, as she was accompanying him to the wedding in July. The photo album John had offered Alex had been enriched with a picture of Hercules carefully trying to follow Peggy’s steps, a hand on her waist, when they’d caught them twirling on Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time.

 

It was now February. The wedding was in five months, which was plenty of time, and at the same time, not much if you considered the fact that the President was getting married and had already a lot on his plate without having to plan a wedding; thankfully, Lafayette’s enthusiasm never wavered. If Abbott down at Presidential Correspondence could be trusted, the nation had also warmed up to the idea; it helped that Angelica had masterfully arranged interviews and press ops with Lafayette, Washington, or both, allowing them to make the people feel included, giving them snippets of the preparation, Lafayette entering designer shops to browse for tuxes, Washington hard at work with Greene with a close-up of his ring on the left hand, letting people guess what the first dance song would be with a playlist Lafayette had graciously “leaked”. They received far less hate mail. Not that the security was getting any lax, but they felt like they could finally breathe.

 

* * *

From : Curls <3

I can’t believe I am about to see you on TV !! The whole gang is here

 

To : Curls <3

I’ll try to do a secret sign.

 

To: Curls <3

Like a thumbs up or something

 

From : Curls <3

This is super-duper secret, James Bond. Great plan

* * *

 

From : Angel-ica

Alexander. Don’t do a thumbs-up.

* * *

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

If you don’t do a thumbs-up I am raising your rent 200%

 

To: Hunkules Mulligan

STOP USING THIS AGAINST ME

* * *

 

It was, actually, the first time Washington had asked Alexander to attend one of his speeches, and he was thrilled. He felt like finally, finally, he was getting to be where the action was, not holed up in his office, great as it may be. The President had a speech to deliver about a reform on education he had in mind; education, he knew, was not accessible to all, and even less adapted to all. Who better to embody that than Alexander Hamilton? He had been particularly prolific on that speech, he, the immigrant who had known that his brains were his greatest and only asset if he wanted to survive, to thrive, to matter one day, something that too few of his fellows seemed to know, or was he too cocky again? Anyway, how many Alexander Hamiltons were stuck at the bottom because they had gave up - or been given up on - because of an antiquated system based on standardization and who seemed to see the scientific field as the key to all knowledge?

He’d had to tone it down. But the point still stood. He watched with excitement as the speech podium was installed in front of the gates from the empty room in which he and the staff were stationed. Washington had chosen a nearby public high school to meet the students, shake a few hands, talk to the principal, encourage a student who told him he wanted to be President as well one day; Lafayette was following, always ready to crack a few jokes in his lovely French accent that seemed to thicken when he was turning on the charm in public, exchanging a few words with the French teacher and making her blush, complimenting a young girl’s hair, attentively listening to the history teacher who had made a French Revolution diorama with his students, all this under the never-ending flashes from the cameras of the few journalists that had been allowed in the cramped classrooms.

Head of Security Tallmadge gave him a wave as he entered the room. The guy was nice. Very competent, maybe too paranoid on some points, but with that much responsibility, who could blame him? Great ass, too, not that Alex would ever be caught saying it. Or even thinking it. John’s ass was best ass, he thought quickly as if to wash his brain of all other thoughts. Definitely. Tallmadge was on the phone, making sure everything was ready. He nodded to no one, maybe to himself, hung up. “T minus ten, everyone !” he called, then exited to go get the President.

* * *

To : Curls <3 

I’M ABOUT TO BE LIVE ON NATIONAL TV

 

To : Curls <3

WHICH ANGLE IS MY BEST ANGLE

 

From : Curls <3

Just drop your pants and turn around baby girl that’s my favorite angle 

 

To : Curls <3

Holy shit

 

To: Curls <3 

Don’t you love to see my face sometimes though maybe you filthy thing

 

From : Curls <3

I like it best when it’s sucking on my cock

 

To: Curls <3

I’m about to be live on national TV with a boner thanks John

* * *

 

Washington and Lafayette entered the room with the rest of the staff. The students following them walked past in the hall, happily - noisily - chatting as they got through the door in the sun, gathering in front of the school, facing the podium and the building, teachers desperately trying to get them to behave.

“You were perfect,” said Washington as he kissed Lafayette’s forehead.

“I know. You’re very handsome,” replied Lafayette as he straightened Washington’s tie, smoothing his shirt with his hand, standing on his toes just the slightest bit to kiss his cheek. The journalists looking through the badly drawn blinds were thrilled at the display. Alex shrugged as he saw a cellphone raised to snap a picture. It was cute. He thought of the picture John had made him develop of the two lovers in the Oval Office, on a night where they’d had to work late hours, Laf asleep on Washington’s knees, the President idly stroking at his hair until he’d fallen asleep as well while Alexander wrote tirelessly, falling slowly down until his head was resting on the armrest. That picture would probably worth millions. He was never selling it.

“Let’s go, people,” announced Washington. “Thank you for being my hands backstage.” He smiled at them, security, communication, school staff. “Your hands?” smiled Lafayette with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “That means you’ve all felt me up,” he said, pointing at them all, “and you’re welcome.” They walked out. Alex followed. A few chairs had been set up to the right of the podium, a bit farther from the edge than the lectern was. The press had set up their cameras and sound systems on the side and front. Lafayette sat closer to Washington; Alex took his seat next to him, then the principal. Tallmadge stayed in the background, at the left of the President.

“Thank you all for being there,” started Washington as he took his place and tapped at the mike to make sure it worked. “Shall we start, then?” Cheers were heard from the student crowd. Alex felt his phone buzz in his pocket. The live feed had probably started. He couldn’t hide a smile. Lafayette saw him from the corner of his eye and grinned back at him, knowing probably that the gang was trying to distract him, before focusing his attention back on his fiancé, tall and eloquent and  _ regal  _ in the winter sun, and his eyes took that blissful look people in love share.

When asked about it later, that would be the moment when Alex knew something was wrong. Maybe he saw the glimmer on the top of the building facing them. Maybe he saw Tallmadge bring his hand to his earpiece with an incredulous look and rush to the President. If anything, he did hear the gunshot. Washington had been tackled to the ground by Tallmadge, the doors of the school opening wide so they could run inside. People started running. Cameras were flung around. A second shot rang out. Alex knew he wouldn’t need the camera’s footage to replay in his brain, again and again and again, the sight of Gilbert du Motier, soon-to-be Gilbert du Motier-Washington, crumbling down, a wet, red flower blossoming slowly on his ever-impeccable suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon coeur = sweetheart
> 
> Please don't hate me.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello ! Thank you for being with me !  
> Holy cow that last chapter got some reactions. I thought I would have to host a giant sleep-over to hand around tissues and tea. That's a good idea actually. We'd share headcanons, maybe watch the Little Mermaid. Hmm.  
> Elisa, I love thee freely, as men strive for right.  
> To my wife, you love angst, and that is why you love me and I you.  
> Pro-tip : listening to Whitney Houston's "I have nothing" as I was writing was NOT a good idea.

What happened next, though, was a blur in Alex’s mind, with the occasional lucid flashes his brain would provide him later in life, mostly when he didn’t want to. Fortunately, or, to be honest, unfortunately, the hungry cameras feasted on the events, as John, Hercules, the Schuyler sisters and the rest of America could only watch, all channels in the country interrupting their programs to broadcast live from DC. They had front seats to see the law enforcement forces that were on standby rush into the building the sniper was in, as well as all those surrounding; the students’ shrieks as they ran in a panic, trying to find cover behind the building, some actually smashing a window to get into the school, no one even approaching the main doors; Alexander had ducked under the podium, unable to tear his eyes from Lafayette, his face away from him, blood coating his suit and starting to trickle to the ground; neither he nor the cameras, however, missed the heart-wrenching scream that came out of George Washington’s mouth, whom Tallmadge had barely managed to get into the school, but had turned around to make sure Lafayette was following; he had seen him fall, he had shaken himself out of Tallmadge’s hold, elbowing him in the gut in his struggle, his fighting instinct probably kicking back in, a security agent had actually tackled him down, and he was trying to crawl to Lafayette.

A few more gunshots were heard, further away. Probably in the building across the street, thought Alex, although it felt like every sound around him was so dull he couldn’t be sure (John would confirm it. The man on the roof had been apprehended. He hadn’t even tried to fight his way out). Tallmadge must have gotten the info that the place was secure, though, because he let the President go, the faint sound of a rushing ambulance in the background; Alex, still feeling far, far away from his own body, with John sitting on the couch maybe, or his face on his mother’s shoulder as she let out her final breath, or his head in his arms in the hurricane that was only happening in his mind, barely registered Washington running to Lafayette, almost tripping on himself, applying pressure to the wound, the white cuffs of his shirt peeking from underneath his jacket and coat turning to scarlet red. He couldn’t make sense of much that Washington was saying, a rushed neverending stream of “don’t let go”s and “keep your eyes on me”s and “stay with me”s. 

Two ambulances made a screeching halt in front of the steps and the paramedics ran out of the vehicles. Alex saw Washington bat away a hand that was trying to help him up before one of the professionals blocked his view and tried to get him to talk. And for once, well, Alexander Hamilton was not eager to open his mouth. They took him away from under the podium and to the stairs facing the lawn. They threw a shock blanket around his shoulders. He saw, from the corner of his eye, Lafayette on a stretcher, getting rushed into one of the ambulances, Washington on his side, Tallmadge with them. He lowered his gaze. Saw the dark splatters of crimson red on his suit pants. Bent over and emptied his stomach, his heart, his mind, until there was nothing there anymore.

 

Alex gave the taxi driver probably way more than he owed him. He didn’t really care about it, truth be told. He just wanted to get home as fast as he could. The paramedics had shoved little flashlights in his eyes, talked to him like he was an infant, and he’d had enough and given them back their stupid blanket and walked across the high school lawn to the first taxi he could find. His phone had kept buzzing all through the ride, but he didn’t feel like talking. He’d just sent a text to John (“on my way”), and one to Washington (“please call me when”, he hadn’t even finished the sentence, he couldn’t but he knew the man would understand), and now he was in front of his building, in the familiar street that was way too silent, the sky way too blue, the air way too crisp, and he felt like he was choking, and he was climbing the stairs three at a time, opening the door, and here it was, the smell of lavender, the voices of his friends and the background noise of the TV as the chatter died down when he entered, and John, John running to him, John’s tears and John’s hair tousled the way it was when he would run his hand through it in worry, John’s hand on his cheeks as he kissed his nose, his cheekbones, his forehead, his mouth, the way his lips parted when Alex let out a sob, falling into his arm in a pathetic parody of Lafayette’s body, and then it was Hercules that was carrying him to the couch, rubbing circles on his back, sitting him down next to John who had rushed to sit and make room for Alexander, Eliza appearing like an angel, a cup of cocoa in her hands.

Angelica had gone to the White House. She didn’t have to. She had taken a day off, originally. She deserved it, she had worked a lot of extra hours to prepare the wedding. Oh god, the wedding. Alexander closed his eyes, hard, smelling the hot chocolate that didn’t smell quite right, vaguely aware of John whispering “can you get me some cinnamon, Eliza, please?” and wrapping him in his arms, untying his hair, smoothing it with tender fingers, Eliza’s sweet perfume next to him, the cinnamon stick, and Peggy sat on the floor resting her head on Hercules’ knees as he was sitting on a chair by the coffee table, and oh, he was there, Alexander was home. 

 

He must have fallen asleep to the sound of Eliza’s soft humming, John’s fingers combing his hair, Hercules and Peggy huddled in front of the TV that was almost on mute the sound was so low. His cold mug of cocoa was on the coffee table, only halfway empty. His phone was buzzing against his leg, that was now resting in Eliza’s lap. He reached for it.

* * *

 

From : POTUS

We are at Washington University Hospital. Gilbert has been sent to the operating room

 

From : POTUS

They won’t tell me anything

 

From : POTUS

I am the fucking President of the United States and they won’t tell me anything

 

From : POTUS

Alexander did you get home, is John with you

 

From : POTUS

Son please tell me you are home

 

To : POTUS

I am home, sir. John is here. Do you need me there?

 

From : POTUS

I will tell you when I know more. Please get some rest, Alexander. Thank you.

* * *

 

“Any news?” asked John gently, laying his hand on Alex’s hot forehead. “Alex, you’re burning up.”

“I have a fucking migraine,” replied Alex, wincing at his own harsh tone. “Sorry. Laf is in surgery. Washington is going insane, nobody knows anything.”

“Do you want to eat something?” said Eliza.

Alex thought about it. He’d slept two hours, according to the TV’s clock. His stomach was empty and he was actually famished. “I want a grilled cheese.”

“Maybe you’d better eat…” she took a look at John’s challenging gaze. “Grilled cheese. Coming right up.”

Peggy handed Alex a glass of water and two ibuprofens she had taken from the bathroom. He thanked her and, sitting down, chased the pills down with the water in a single gulp. He was parched, and tired, and sore.

“Do you want to talk about it?” John took his hand.

“I am sure the news pretty much covered it all,” shrugged Alexander. “Actually, you might even know more than me, for once.”

They all decided he had a free pass for the slight ego-trip. Eliza set a plate down on Alexander’s lap, two grilled cheese, and baby carrots with a sliced apple, apparently her motherly instinct had taken over.

Hercules started to talk, to state facts. His warm and tranquil voice was soothing. “Washington had started his speech. We heard a gunshot. Some of the cameras stayed on him. Some turned to the source of the noise and the police forcing their way in. There was a second shot. Laf fell. The cameras were on him. We saw you get under the podium. Then we saw Washington fight his way to Laf as they announced that they had arrested the guy.”

“That’s when the live feed stopped,” added John. “The security guys - I think it was Brewster, I am not sure, Angelica said his name - were telling the media to pack up. They followed the ambulance, though. A few of them actually interviewed the students when you all left. There were a few pictures of you taken, though. The blood, too.”

Alex shuddered. The blood. Someone had taken his pants and shoes off. He felt relieved. The blood stains were not a good look on him. He thought of Lafayette’s text, decades ago it seemed, telling him he would not pull a Jackie Kennedy. Huh. Who’d have thought Washington would be the one to wear the metaphorical pink Chanel suit. He let out a small smile around his sandwich. Lafayette would love that image. If he woke up. Suddenly Alex was not very hungry anymore. John must have felt the change, because he took one of the little carrots and started feeding it to Alexander, grinning at him like they were alone in the room, then another one, and a slice of apple, his fingers lingering just long enough that Alex could kiss the tip every time. He heard Peggy groan “this is super gross”, but he couldn’t give less of a crap.

The TV was still on, the same images on loop, and Alex watched like it was a particularly bad movie, medical expert talking after terrorism expert, no one saying anything, _ we don’t know, we don’t know, we think, they might, we’ve heard _ . He felt the weight of his phone in his pants pocket,  _ they won’t tell me anything _ , and he snapped, “Turn that fucking thing off”. There was silence. John got up, tugged him gently by the hand, Eliza taking the plate from his lap and walking to the kitchen. John led him to the bathroom, started to run a bath, undressing him as the water started to fill the tub. “My phone,” said Alex hurriedly, “don’t put it away,” so John left it aside on the sink, where they could reach it even from the tub. He got undressed as well, sat in the tub, leaned his back against the cold porcelain, and smiled invitingly at Alex as the warm water started to pool around the top of his thighs. Alexander didn’t have to be told twice; he climbed in, laid his body on John’s, his cheek flush against John’s chest so all he could hear was his heartbeat and the stream of water from the faucet.

 

He must have dozed off, an hour, maybe a bit more, because, once again, he was woken up but the buzzing of his phone. 

* * *

 

From : POTUS

Gilbert out of danger. Still asleep. Should wake up in a few hours. They won’t let me see him. 

 

From : POTUS

I am in Gilbert’s room. Used the Presidential privilege. You, John and Hercules are on the visitation list.

* * *

 

Alex’s shoulder sagged with the weight of his relief. John, who was reading above his shoulder, his hands tight around Alexander’s middle, kissed fleetingly at his neck. “Do you want to go there?” he asked. “He is still under,” thought Alex aloud. “Won’t wake up until at least two hours with the pain meds he is probably on.” 

“I know, baby girl,” hummed John in his damp hair. “Do you want to be by Washington’s side, though?”

And the answer was clear as day in his mind. “Let’s go,” he decided as he got up, droplets falling onto John’s beautiful body, smiling at him like he’d hung the moon for him.

John, Hercules and Alex piled up in a taxi, the Schuyler sisters deciding to stay at the flat, texting Angelica that they were on their way so she could tell the security and negociate them another way in the hospital, Alex definitely not ready to face the media who had already took enough pictures of him that day as it was. 

They got in the hospital through the staff’s entry. Bob met them there. Poor guy didn’t look like he did this morning. He had somehow aged ten years in seven hours. “Mr President is in Monsieur de Lafayette’s room,” he said. “Miss Schuyler warned us of your arrival.” He looked ill at ease. “Monsieur de Lafayette… I was not standing close enough. I…” Hercules just said, in his low, soothing voice, “I can’t see what you could have done against a sniper’s bullet, Robert. Lafayette will be okay and that is all that matters.” Bob cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “This way, please.”

Several nurses tried to stop them, but apparently word had gotten around that they were to be let through; they walked a few corridors, until the double-wing door where some chairs were arranged. Robert nodded at the seats, and they waited here while he walked through the doors. A few minutes later, Tallmadge and Washington himself were walking out. Washington sat on the chair next to Alex’s, stretching his long legs with a sigh. His sleeves were brown with dried blood. He let a hand land on Alex’s shoulder, paternal and heavy, and Alexander finally allowed the tears to flow free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE GUYS HE IS OKAY  
> Honestly how could you doubt it. I literally share a name with one of his daughters. He is the only man I will ever love. (If my boyfriend reads that, I'm toast)


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all ! Thank you for being there. Your comments and messages are a big part of what I wake up in the morning for.  
> Elisa, whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling. 
> 
> I give you, for this chapter, my husband on pain meds.

Alex wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way. Washington’s hand on his shoulder, John’s hand in his, Hercules quietly talking with Tallmadge. The air had that hospital smell he hated, the cloying and bitter taste of ether, the scent of old people and sterile metal and coppery blood. He would never get used to it. Everywhere, the ghost of his mom lingered, too pale and too fleeting to remember more than her essential features, the same eyes, the same chin, but there all the same, and there was a reason he didn’t think about it : it was because he didn’t want to. If he didn’t think about it, he didn’t cry. Alexander Hamilton was good at powering through.

Finally, a doctor walked through the door, straight to Washington. “Mr President,” she said. “Monsieur de Lafayette just woke up.”

Washington jumped to his feet. “How is he?”

“He tried to bribe me into getting some wine,” she frowned. “The pain drugs can be very exhilarating.”

Washington let out a relieved, booming laugh. “Lady, you’ve certainly never seen him without drugs. You got off easy.” He didn’t even wait for her to say anything, just walked past the doors. Alex, John, Hercules and Tallmadge made to follow, but she stopped them. 

“Only one at a time,” she informed them.

“I will wait behind the door to Lafayette’s room,” said Tallmadge. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to keep the President of the United States in sight and you are in my way.” He followed Washington through the doors.

John, Alex and Hercules looked at each other. John nudged Alex to the door, and Hercules nodded. They both knew he needed to see him alive way more than them right now. The doctor raised an eyebrow. “With President Washington, it makes two of you.”

“Does he count?” asked Alex. “I would like to see you try to get him out of that room. You may as well count him as one of the drips from now on.”

She sighed, but let him accompany her. She talked quickly as she walked past a few rooms. “The bullet went through muscle and cartilage. We were lucky enough that no organ was hit. No nerves, as well. That would have been unfortunate. There is, though, a nasty fracture. We’ve had to use screws to the glenoid as well as the clavicle. The blow was pretty traumatic. We will probably keep him for a few days, make sure we keep any risks of infection at bay.” Alex saw Tallmadge, standing with Bob by a door. He walked in with the doctor.

Lafayette was lying in bed, propped up by a pillow, but the permanent Chesire grin was still etched on his face. Washington, sitting on a chair, was holding the hand that was not attached to a drip. “Deborah !” called Lafayette. Alex determined it had to be the doctor, since he was pretty sure his own name was not, in fact, Deborah. “I do believe I asked for wine !”

“I am afraid you won’t have alcohol for some time, Monsieur,” she said with a smile.

“This is terrible. I am never coming back to this hospital again.” Washington chuckled at the words, drawing Lafayette’s attention to himself. “Can you believe it,  _ chéri _ ? Your hospitals are terrible. Do not make fun of me. Alex, prepare a healthcare reform.”

Alex sat carefully on the foot of the bed. “I am a mere speechwriter, Laf. We will see when I am in charge of HHS.”

“Well look at that,  _ mon petit lion _ . You just got promoted.” He turned his head with a wince to the doctor, who was surveying a complicated pinging machine. “Deborah, will I ever be able to play the violin again?”

She looked about to cry. “Did you play the violin before, Monsieur de Lafayette?”

“Did I say play the violin? My English is awful. I meant give a handjob to my fiancé. He is the President of the United States, you know.”

She closed her eyes. Alex could tell she was counting to ten. “You’ll have to wear a sling for 5 weeks, sir. Then physical therapy for three, maybe four months. I have no doubt you’ll find ways to entertain yourself. If you’ll excuse me, gentleman, Mr President, I’ll leave you to it. I will be back in fifteen minutes.” She all but fled out of the room. Alex wondered if Bob would offer her coffee and empathize with her over their shared Lafayette-shaped burden.

“She is not kicking you out in fifteen minutes,” hummed Lafayette to Washington. “Poor woman.”

“No, she is not,” replied Washington, shaking his head, smoothing Lafayette’s untied hair.

Lafayette turned to Alex. “I have a metal arm now.”

“The doctor told me, yes,” smiled Alex.

“It’s just a few pins on your clavicle and at the joint, Gil,” corrected Washington with twinkling eyes.

“He doesn’t know that,  _ mon coeur _ ,” said the Frenchman full volume. Then, to Alex : “They had to replace my whole arm.”

“Did it hurt?” asked Alex, humoring him. Washington could barely contain his laughter.

“I was very brave,” Lafayette informed him, deciding that the general anaesthesia was a minor factor in said bravery. “I saw it all. My arm was hanging off, and they sewed it on, then they were shining my shoes and taking George’s name off the sole.”

“That sounds terrible, Woody,” nodded Alex gravely.

Lafayette hummed in agreement. His eyes were pretty unfocused, but they seemed to be searching for Washington’s, all the time. But Alex had to ask, nonetheless. His tone was more serious, more gentle, when he asked again. “Did it hurt, Laf?”

The man looked smaller, in the sea of white sheets. “ _ Oui. Bien plus que la première fois _ .”

Alex raised his eyebrows, then felt Lafayette’s legs shift slightly next to him. He thought of the scar he’d seen on the man’s calf the first night he’d stayed at their place. It was not really the time to talk about it, though. He turned his attention back to the two men.

“You didn’t leave me,” was saying Washington, stroking Lafayette’s cheek. 

“I said I wouldn’t. You’re stuck with me.” Lafayette smiled wide. “I am thinking of legally changing my name to Kevin Costner,” he loudly announced. “I actually have this great idea for the wedding, George, don’t close your eyes, bear with me. Okay, so you see Whitney Houston’s outfit when she is at the club, right? With the silver headwear. I am pretty sure I can get it in your size and -”

Washington shut him up with a kiss. That’s when Deborah came back in. “Okay, gentlemen, time’s up.” Alex got up. Washington didn’t. “Mr President, please. You don’t want to exhaust Monsieur de Lafayette, do you?” she tried.

“You’d be surprised to see how much more he can take before being exhausted, doctor,” Alex heard the President say as he walked out of the room. 

Lafayette shouted behind him, “ _ Alexandre ! Dis à Hercules, pas les M&Ms! J’ai caché des Kinder dans ton appartement ! _ ”

Alex chuckled as he made his way to John and Hercules.

 

Three hours later, they were home. Hercules and John had taken turns going to see Lafayette, and Hercules had a long list of items the wounded hero needed, although the doctor had said he wouldn’t stay for that long. Some were reasonable (his laptop, a worrying amount of candy he had apparently stashed all over the White House AND their appartment, his earphones) and some the doctor had to intervene to ban (a bottle of cognac, five kittens, and the entire cast of Les Mis for a live reenactment). John had complained to Lafayette that he had taken his place as best warrior, but Lafayette would have none of it, saying that the only reason John had not been on a hospital bed was because he had acted on his own. Incognito. Like a vigilante. His secret was safe with him. 

Washington, though, had not left the room. Actually, Hercules told him that when he had left, Lafayette was offering to make some room for him in the bed. Deborah had said no. By the time John had left, the President had already taken his shoes off to get into bed. Alex would not be surprised to see the doctor on the news the next day for resigning.

Eliza was sitting on their couch, her head resting on Maria’s shoulder. Apparently Peggy had gone to work, and Maria’s shift was over. Alex wondered when their flat had turned into the Scooby gang’s headquarters. Hercules immediately got to work finding Lafayette’s highly illegal secret stash of Kinder eggs, which apparently, was in the potted plant he had offered them two months ago. He called Angelica, who was still at the White House, asking her to bring Laf’s laptop and the five Snickers bars who were apparently hidden in the third drawer of the Oval Office’s presidential desk. 

It was way past 8pm now. The day before, Alex had been force-feeding Hercules fries with cream cheese while Peggy held him down. Today, he had seen one of his best friend get shot, spend hours in surgery, then drive medical staff mad, all in the span of ten hours. It had been a long day. He was tense, and tired. John felt it, of course; John always knew. “I am taking the kid to bed,” he told the rest of the group after Eliza had forced Alex to swallow a few spoonfuls of chicken soup. 

“Are you just tucking me in, or are you joining me?” asked Alex, somewhat petulantly, as John was taking his shirt off. 

John hummed as he let his hand trail on Alex’s bare skin. “I am not letting you out of my sight, baby girl.” 

Alex sighed contentedly as they burrowed under the covers. John scooted closer until his chest was flush with Alex’s back, kissing his neck. Alex hadn’t been sure he would be in the mood that night. But, when he thought of it, he felt alive. He felt  _ so _ alive. And he was ready for the world to know. 

Even the neighbour’s Christian rock, punctuated with her sobbing, could not drown out the gasps and moans. Maria and Eliza fled the building. Hercules and Angelica decided that it was time to get absolutely, thoroughly drunk.

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

I am proud that we have the same celebration methods!! 

 

From : Baguette Kisser

_ attached : wine.jpg _

To Hercules and Deborah. May they never kick you or I out. 

* * *

 

How Lafayette was able to find wine in a hospital bed, they would never know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oui, bien plus que la première fois : Yes, way more than the first time  
> Alexandre ! Dis à Hercules, pas les M&Ms! J’ai caché des Kinder dans ton appartement ! : Alexander ! Tell Hercules not to take the Snickers ! I have hidden Kinder eggs in the flat
> 
> Honestly I can't believe the US banned Kinder eggs. I weep for you.  
> Honestly, my way of writing Lafayette is just to take all the filters I have in my head off.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello ! Thank you for being there. Yes, you.  
> Elisa, beautiful dreamer, queen of my song. Thank you for getting me through everything.
> 
> This chapter seems smaller to me somehow? I don't know. I was in the mood for fluff.

* * *

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Alexander

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Alexander are you up

 

From : Baguette Kisser 

It’s 4 am

 

From : Baguette Kisser 

Alexander I can’t sleep

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Alexander do you think Jefferson is a power bottom

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Madison absolutely tops. But do you think Jefferson lets go of his control

 

From : Baguette Kisser

I know I do

 

To : Baguette Kisser

OKAY I AM UP PLEASE STOP 

 

From : Baguette Kisser

What about you Alexander

 

To : Baguette Kisser 

Honestly I am just grateful if John ever touches me again after you woke him up at 4 with your texts

* * *

 

Lafayette had been at the hospital for three days. Three long, long days, for everyone who knew him, except for Hercules and Washington. A bored Frenchman was apparently not something that you would want to deal with. The hospital staff was pleased to report that the infection risk had definitely disappeared, as they’d had to deal with the media and Washington’s stubborn presence in his fiancé’s room whether thay wanted it or not; Angelica had had to clear his whole schedule as well as deal with the press. The gunman was a Republican extremist, who didn’t even have any particuliar demands other than “purge the filth from this nation”, which was lovely enough as far as Alex was concerned, but now some people actually believed the rumours that said that the whole accident had been staged to gain public sympathy. Alex had been in more than one Twitter feuds, and in one instance, a real one when walking home from the coffee shop; John had had to physically restrain him, before actually punching the guy himself (Laf had loved it. In fact, John had received a bouquet of camelias larger than his head, the evening after the fight, but another one on the next morning. Hercules had bet Peggy that another bouquet would arrive that evening too. Peggy was about to lose $10).

They were actually on their way to the hospital. Lafayette had called on Hercules, John and Alex for “an important mission”. Really, if he was about to ask them to give leaflets to each patient to announce auditions to his impromptu renewal of Rent, Alex was out of there because he knew far too well that he would have to play Mimi. They all entered the room together. Deborah had abandoned the “one-person-only” rule for a while now. Actually, it had taken her 18 hours to give up. John had called it an “impressive feat”. Bob had taken her out for celebratory drinks, that day. Alex thought he had a wife. But who was he to judge? Lafayette could certainly destroy a poor man's family life.

Lafayette and Washington were lying on the bed, one earbud each, Lafayette’s laptop on George’s outstretched legs, Lafayette’s head on his shoulder.

“See,” was Lafayette saying with a sigh, “that’s when Ugolin hangs himself because he loves Manon and doesn’t want to live without her love, which she will not give him as now she knows about the clogged source. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“No wonder your country is all cynical existentialists,” Washington shook his head, taking out his earbud. “That’s fucking depressing, darling.”

“You are a heathen. Next on the list is  _ Jeux d’enfants _ . I can’t stand Cotillard but Canet is eye-candy.” Lafayette finally noticed the three standing in the doorway. “ _ Mes amis _ ! Save me ! This old grumpy man just climbed into my bed and I have no idea who he is.”

“We’ve heard you wanted to assemble the Avengers for a mission of the utmost importance?” said John. “Anything worth getting out of bed on a Sunday?”

“George,  _ mon chéri _ , would you mind getting me a hot cup of coffee?” Lafayette smiled at the President of the United States, who didn’t even try to argue, kissed his head and walked out, Tallmadge following him. 

“The man is whipped”, remarked Hercules.

“Oh no, I can’t use my right hand right now. But he will be once I regain my mobility,” corrected Lafayette. John laid a hand on Alexander’s thigh before he let out a loud shriek. Lafayette leant towards them as they sat on the edge of the bed, Hercules taking Washington’s place. “I am getting married in four months”, he said in a conspiratorial voice. They all gravely nodded. “I will be probably be in a sling. Which is terrible, and I will avoid that at all costs. I am not having George Jr look at those pictures and ask why Papa is injured. So you are officially in charge of supervising the wedding.”

“Don’t you have a wedding planner?” asked John, apparently taken aback.

“Frankly, John, does he look like the kind of man who would have a wedding planner?” replied Alex in despair. “He has been harassing Angelica with questions about what could be done and what couldn’t. She had to veto having Nicki Minaj parachuted to the White House.”

“There is nobody I trust more than you three,” muttered Lafayette. 

Of course, no one could resist the puppy eyes. And that’s how Alexander ended up having to listen to way more French love songs that he thought he would ever have to while Hercules tried to pick the best one for the reception (John had suggested that Jefferson could make them a mixtape of his favorite. John had almost slept on the couch).

 

Some of it had perks, though. For example, Alex was currently with John at a very expensive French caterer, on Lafayette’s behalf, to try and sample the different dishes they could be served. Alex didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it was more or less a restaurant.

“Honestly, Alexander, I am more interested in trying the wine than any of the dishes,” said John as he heartily poured them a full glass each of Sauternes. “This is crazy. We can’t even afford the napkins. This wine is worth more than our bed.”

“Let’s be real, our bed was the cheapest I could find when I moved in,” smiled Alex, taking a bite of goat cheese salad, humming appreciatively. 

“Laf is fucking splurging on this wedding. I am glad it’s his personal wallet and not mine. Even for a wedding, that’s too much.”

“Oh yeah?” smirked John. “And what kind of wedding would Alexander Hamilton not-splurge on?” He blushed. “Not that. You know. But. What would you… Hypothetically.”

Alex tried his best to make it look like he was not choking on a crouton. He took a swig of his wine. “I… Yeah. I would. I mean? If you… If I find.... and you wanted to. I mean. Nothing that fancy though. Probably just me and… you know. Not in the city. You can’t even see the stars. Somewhere we’d see them, you know? We don’t have much but we could have that. I mean. You know. Hypothetically.”

They were both glad the restaurant was dark. It was too warm though, judging by the way they downed their wine as the waiter set new plates in front of them. Duck confit, ratatouille,  _ lotte à la bordelaise _ . Alex didn’t even know what it was. He dug in valiantly, and muttered, “Have you ever… thought… maybe?”

“With…?” hesitated John, pointing his fork at Alex, then himself, then Alex again. “Yeah, I mean… lately, yeah? When you know… well, you know. You just do. And shit looks clearer. And… it’s not like I have many people to invite, you know? So. Just us is okay. To me. If you wanted to. You know.”

Wasn’t it just ironic. Alexander Hamilton, the man with a thousand word a minute, writing presidential speeches for a living, famous for his 51-pages essay, had no words that came to mind than “let’s just fucking do it right now”. But somehow, a hurriedly mumbled proposal at a dinner paid for by the First Gentleman was not really the way he wanted to get things done. So he changed the subject. “Do you think Laf was serious when he talked about Georges Jr?”

John snorted, but looked relieved. “Alex, baby girl, I think the child is probably hidden somewhere in the White House right now.”

 

They got home significantly buzzed on excellent French wine and each other’s presence. As he took John’s shirt off his shoulders and let his hands linger there for a second, Alex marvelled at what he felt. The comfort. The wonder. The calm after the storm. He laid a kiss against John’s shoulder. John caught his lips hungrily, taking Alexander’s face into his hands, kissing a trail of fire along his jaw, nipping at his earlobe as Alex was frantically getting rid of his dress pants. 

As he rode John’s cock, Alex wondered if what they said was true. If married sex really was different than boyfriend sex. There was only one way of knowing, and Alexander was a man of science.

The next day, Alexander left work a bit earlier, and he walked into a jewelry store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearing the end, my loves ! The movie Laf and GWash are watching is Manon des Sources. It's actually one of my favorite French movie of all times. Ugolin's declaration makes me tear up every time.  
> Your comments and kudos and messages are everything. I treasure every single one.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Deep breath* Hello, my loves ! Thank you for reading !  
> Thank you for your comments and messages. They are such a tremendous help.  
> Elisa, this is the golden morning of love, and you are his morning start.  
> I dedicate this chapter to my wife. Liebling. Thank you for helping me with the washette playlist.
> 
> This is it. The moment you've been waiting for.  
> I included a link to the picture of Alex's suit. Because it's my fave pic of Lin and. yeah.

John adjusted his tie in the mirror. He really hated wearing suits, but you couldn’t really show up in jeans and a “Equal Pay for Equal Work” shirt at a wedding, much less at the White House. Hercules had already left the day before. His duties as best man included being there before everyone else, making sure Lafayette was not literally trying to get in a fight with the florist or staining his suit with coffee (Hercules sent them updates. The groom was at his fourth cup. He was vibrating). Alex was in the bedroom, desperately trying to fight matching socks - the only one he could find where a pair that John had got for him, with little turtles all over, saying “I think you’re pretty  _ SHELL _ !” and he loved them, but he couldn’t really wear them at his boss and best friend’s wedding. He gave up and defeatedly fished a clean pair of socks from John’s drawer, walking to the bathroom.

John was tying his hair back in a low ponytail and Alex beamed at him. He knew John was not really comfortable all suited up, but he really was a sight for sore eyes. Alex could feel, in his suit jacket’s breast pocket, the light but oh-so-there weight of the ring. He hadn’t put it in a box. It would have been too obvious. Too cliché. God, he hated it already. He hadn’t even told anyone. Hercules would have been too snarky; Laf would probably have punched him to try and steal his day of glory; Peggy would have told Hercules; Elizabeth would have fussed about him and organized all; and Angelica was already on the verge of going on a murder rampage with just the one wedding.

“The navy tie was a really good idea,” complimented Alex as he got on his tip-toes to kiss John’s neck above the collar. 

“You look incredible, baby girl,” said John in awe as he smoothed the lapel of Alex’s dark grey [waistcoat](http://www.newyorker.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/150209_r26101-864.jpg), matching his own jacket as they were both groomsmen and Lafayette had been very strict about the dresscode. Alex grabbed John’s wrists before he got to the breast pocket and used the momentum to kiss his knuckles. 

John chuckled. “Are weddings making you sentimental, love?” He kissed Alex’s forehead, pressing his body against his boyfriend’s and humming contentedly. Alex pressed his body a little closer; John’s body was definitely not indifferent. “Maybe we could have time for a little “us” time,” whispered John in his ear.

“The car will be there in ten minutes,” laughed Alex.

“That’s plenty of time for me to spread you out, baby girl,” whined John.

“I am  _ sorry _ ,” said Alex with false indignation, “I can’t see how you’d expect me to create  _ art _ in ten minutes !”

“Alex, this is not art, you’re the least creative person I know. I am just talking about a quickie in Herc’s room, really,” retorted John. Alex was starting to pull his hair up. “No ! Could you let it down? I like when you wear your hair down.” Alex would never say no to that sweet pleading voice.

By the time they were ready, the car was waiting for them downstairs - along with quite a lot of cameras and journalists. It would have been foolish to think that in the eight months between the announcement and the actual ceremony, the list of guests wouldn’t get leaked. Alex had gotten quite his fair share of attention after the February assassination attempt anyway, especially more so when people had seen him out and about with Henry Laurens’ son. They had gone from being known as “friends”, to “close friends”, to finally “boyfriends”, although Henry Laurens would firmly deny it any chance he got. They made their way through the crowd, holding hands, not even looking at a single flash, and got in the black car that took off immediately to the White House.

 

They were a bit early, just the way Lafayette had asked them to. They headed to the Red Room, on the State floor; the ceremony in itself was to be held in the East room, and Washington was getting ready in the Green Room. Hercules greeted them before they entered the room. “He is being...very Laf right now.” They braced themselves and got in.

Lafayette looked like a model. He was wearing a charcoal three-piece-suit with a light purple tie, with a matching handkerchief in the breast pocket; they knew Hercules had been the one to make the suit, and it was actually perfect. Lafayette looked crazed, though. They could very distinctly hear MIA’s “Bad Girls” blasting from the headphones he was wearing, shaking his limbs wildly. 

“He is making sure he can move freely in the suit,” explained Hercules, his own suit matching John and Alex’s own, with the exception of a white carnation on his lapel. “They took the sling off two days ago. He’s been a really good boy with the therapy.”

John walked to Lafayette and took the headgear off. Lafayette finally realized they were there. “ _ Mes amis _ ,” he breathed, before hugging them tight. “I am getting married today.”

“Yes, we kinda heard. The nation is in a state of excitement only matched during the Superbowl,” smirked Alex.

“I haven’t eaten,” worried Lafayette.

“There are like a billion pastries on this table,” remarked John as he walked to a side desk.

“He hasn’t been able to eat since this morning. We stayed at Mount Vernon because he didn’t want to see Washington the day before,” said Hercules.

“Perhaps I'll collapse in the aisle right before you all,” panicked Lafayette.

John took his hands and forced as he forced him to breathe in time with him, deep, elaborate breaths, as Hercules pinned a white carnation on Laf’s jacket. Would it be like that, if John said yes? Would he be panicking, breathing in for four seconds, exhaling for eight? And what if John said no, anyway? Hercules turned to John, pinning a white camellia on his lapel. Then he made his way to Alex, the same flower in his hand, and brought his hand to Alex’s jacket, feeling under it to make sure he didn’t pin the waistcoat as well, and of course, his wide eyes flew to Alex’s as he felt the round metal in the breast pocket under his careful fingers. 

“When?” he whispered, feeling Alex’s heartrate quicken as a blush rose to his cheeks.

“After the party,” muttered Alex.

Hercules gripped his shoulder, eyes twinkling. “I’m… Yeah. I’m really happy for you.”

Alex felt like he was the one that was going to faint. So he just grabbed Hercules’ hand and squeezed, hard, grounding himself, taking a slow breath, before making his way to Lafayette.

“Okay, lover boy. Ten minutes before show time.”

“ _ D’accord. Compris. _ ”Laf turned to the window and opened it wide, then closed it quickly. He wasn’t expecting the journalists by the gate on Constitution avenue, who had been more than happy to see some movement. None of them had been admitted, only an official photographer. “Okay. No fresh air. That’s okay. Is George ready? Is averyone in the East Room?” 

“I’ll go and check, alright?” offered Hercules. He opened the door right as a small, latina old lady was about to knock.

“Claudia !” Lafayette crossed the room in three long strides and bent down to hug her after Hercules had smiled at her before walking out. “Oh, you look gorgeous.” She was wearing a floral, charming purple and grey. Lafayette offered her his arm and brought her slowly to John and Alex to introduce them. “John, Alexander, can I have the pleasure and honor to introduce you to Claudia? She was the lady I told you about at Thanksgiving. She is the one to give me away.”

And that was such a Laf thing to do, having an old lady he’d met at a soup kitchen to walk him down the aisle, that John and Alex weren’t really that surprised. Alex took her hand and kissed it, “ _encantado de conocerla_ ”, as she giggled; John’s eyes twinkled with love as he in turn kissed her hand (“I will not butcher Spanish, but am pleased to meet you, _señorita,”_ ) and Laf laughed appreciatively. 

Hercules got back in the room. “Okay. We are about to start. Alex, John, will you take your places?”

John kissed Laf on the cheek. “Monsieur de Lafayette, soon to be Lafayette-Washington. Don’t forget your old unmarried friends.”

Alex almost threw up at that although Lafayette only laughed, looking a bit queasy still. “Be sure to catch the bouquet, Laurens.”

Alex kissed Lafayette on the cheek as well. “ _ J’arrive pas à croire que tu vas te marier.” _

Lafayette stared at him. “ _ Putain de merde. Moi non plus. _ ”

 

Alex and John entered the East Room. An arch, tastefully decorated with purple irises and white roses, had been installed at the end; people were sitting in chairs, facing the make-shift altar. They made their way there, shaking hands and kissing cheeks in passing; the Schuyler Sisters, of course, Maria next to Eliza, looking right at home, Peggy sitting in the front row as Hercules’ date; several statesmen, Von Steuben standing as Washington’s best man, Knox and another man Alexander didn’t know but Hercules had told him was named Forbes and had fought with Washington in the war in his younger years; Greene and his wife sitting next to French Prime Minister Vergennes and his own wife, Hanson and his very pregnant wife.

They didn’t stop to greet everybody and took their places at the left of the arch, shaking Washington’s party and the governor’s, who was officiating. From there, they could see Bob and Tallmadge, standing by the entrance; a few more Secret Service agents were throughout the guests, Alex knew. The room was getting quiet, and totally fell silent when Hercules walked up the aisle to take his place standing with John and Alex. They took a collective breath, and Hercules nodded at the Governor. 

“If you will all please stand,” said the Governor. Alex felt light-headed. Music started, and, he had to hold in a snort. An instrumental version of Paul McCartney’s “Maybe I’m Amazed”. All things considered, when thinking about Laf and Washington, it was fitting. George Washington appeared at the end of aisle, entering by the same door they had; he was accompanied by a smaller woman, all smiles and teary eyes, that Alex knew was Martha Custis, his first wife. They had always remained in excellent terms. He could even, now that he payed attention to it, spot a few of her children in attendance. They walked slowly down the aisle, Washington looking about to pass out, people humming appreciately at his black suit, the small American flag pinned on his jacket underneath the white carnation. They finally reached the altar and he bent down so he could kiss Martha’s cheek; she wiped a tear away and beamed at him, taking her seat. Von Steuben let a hand rest on Washington’s shoulder; and it was a testament to his nerves that he, the man who wasn’t one for public affection, except in Lafayette’s case, let himself lean into it.

The music changed. Alex felt John grab his hand and shake his head, his body vibrating with laughter. Lafayette had been saying the truth when talking about the Bodyguard, because he walked in on Whitney Houston’s “I have nothing”, instrumental version as well, matching his steps to Claudia’s careful ones, his hand covering hers that was on his arm. He honestly looked like the sun. Or like someone who had taken too much coffee, which was true. Alex watched Washington from the corner of his eye. The man’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, his smile guiding Laf to him like a beacon, their gaze never leaving the other’s. Finally, Lafayette arrived to the altar; he bent down, kissing Claudia on the cheek, who sat next to Peggy, who handed her a tissue.

They all sat down as Laf and Washington faced each other, their eyes exchanging a million words soundlessly. Alex couldn’t even listen to the governor’s words over his own heartbeat, John’s hand still clutching his tightly. The ring in his breast pocket felt so heavy. If everything went well, would he, like Lafayette, look at John like the world only turned for them? But then again, didn’t he already look at him that way? What would it feel like to be in their place? To know that you wouldn’t be alone anymore ? He shook his head slightly as he heard the word “vows”.

Lafayette started. “ _ Sous le ciel de cristal, je me sens si léger. Je vire, délire et chavire dans un océan d'étoiles… Ce rêve bleu, c'est un voyage fabuleux. Je suis monté trop haut, allé trop loin, je ne peux plus retourner d'où je viens, sur les chevaux du monde, dans la poussière d'étoiles; naviguons dans le temps, infiniment, et vivons ce rêve merveilleux. Ce rêve bleu, aux mille nuits, qui durera, pour toi et moi, toute la vie. _ ” Alex stared at him, eyes wide. People were wiping tears and nodding, looking approving. Only Vergennes was trying not to laugh. John turned to Alex. “Did you get it?”

Alex muttered, “I am pretty sure it was word for word the lyrics to Aladdin’s A Whole New World.”

It was Wahington’s turn. “I was not expecting not to understand your vow, Gil; I hope you’ll forgive me for not trying to translate. I take you today, as my husband, and lover; as my ally and best friend, for the best days and the worse; as a model in strength, and a consolation in trying times; so we never have a lonely night or a sorrowful day again, so we build a home that we are both proud to call as such. I will even let you cook that weird dish with the cow’s tongue. As I said, flaws and all.”

They were a few sobbed-out laughs. They quickly exchanged their “I do”s as Hercules and Von Steuben produced the rings; Lafayette was fully crying by the time Washington slid the ring on his finger. And when they were finally told they could kiss the groom, Washington thumbing at Lafayette’s cheeks to try and get rid of the tears, a thunderous applause and a few catcalls echoing in the room, Alex could only see he and John, matching rings on their fingers. 

Washington and Lafayette (Lafayette-Washington? Alex would stick to calling him Laf. Why would he add a name to the long list that was already on his birth certificate?) parted with a smile, looking like they were alone. Washington took Lafayette by the waist, who giggled, before turning to the audience. “Thank you all for coming ! The reception is just next door, in the Blue Room. If you’ll follow us? For those who have an invite, dinner is only in two hours, so don’t stuff yourselves full. I mean you, Vergennes.” There were a few laughs as everybody got up to shake hands with the newlyweds, who opened the way to the blue room.

John snaked a hand around Alex’s middle. “That was beautiful. Time to go celebrate love, baby girl.”

Alex’s heart was beating hard. “Don’t drink too much, yeah? I have a celebration of our own after dinner.”

John’s eyes lit up. “Are we going to have sex in the Oval Office?”

Alex let out a shaky laugh. “No. It’s not… It doesn’t involve any of our genitals ( _ although I hope it will after, he thought _ ). Please?”

John nodded, intrigued, and led Alex to the Blue room with a kiss in his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> D'accord. Compris = okay. got it  
> encantado de conocerla = happy to meet you  
> j'arrive pas à croire que tu vas te marier = i can't believe you are getting married  
> Putain de merde. moi non plus = holy fucking shit. me neither  
> The french vows are LITERALLY the french lyrics to a Whole New World. LAF WOULD COME ON
> 
> We're approaching the end, loves...


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ! Thank you for being here. Your comments and messages mean so much.  
> Elisa, thank you. My rock, my island.
> 
> I'll leave you to it. Please know that I have an ENTIRE playlist for George and Laf's wedding party.

The reception was a quick affair, mainly meant for those who did not wish to stay for dinner - they were few. Not more than 40 people were present, Deborah, to Alex’s surprise and Lafayette’s delight, a few French friends of Lafayette and veterans that had fought with Washington, some of them tired enough that they didn’t have the patience to attend dinner; there were probably about thirty of them that stayed and went to the State Dining room, where a long table had been set for the grooms and their immediate parties, as well as several smaller round tables for the other guests. The other end of the room was occupied by a DJ booth. Lafayette had been adamant. There would be dancing, whether the guests wanted it or not. The room was tastefully decorated in the same scheme of irises and roses - Hercules had told Alex during the reception that they were the emblem of France and the US, respectively. Count on Laf to make things symbolic. Alex wondered. Would yellow jessamines look good next to poinciana flowers? Would John even want their wedding to feature symbols of his home state? Now that he thought of it, would John even want to marry him? After all, they’d been dating for a bit less than a year ( _almost a year_ , thought Alex. _That was a long time and his record_.) Why would he want to marry him ? Marriage was an antiquated institution anyway. Wearing a ring to signal the world you’d find the One and knowing that you’d always have someone to lean on, how silly.

Alex took his seat between John and Peggy at the table. He had been subtly (or not-so-subtly) monitoring John’s drinking : he felt like the moment would be kind of ruined by John puking on his shoes as he popped the question. The room was buzzing with laughter and drunken joking. Martha sat with Claudia, the two women laughing heartily; Peggy was sitting next to Hercules, a smug expression on her face; Maria and Eliza were trying to be discreet playing footsie underneath the table, but Angelica’s face said otherwise and she shook her head good-naturedly at the man she had brought as her date, which she had introduced to John and Alex as John Church; Tighlman was trying to show a magic trick to Hanson’s wife, who looked definitely unimpressed as magic probably required that you hadn’t had five Mojito before performing. The room fell silent when Hercules got up. He didn’t clink his glass with a spoon to command their attention : he was about to, but Peggy had yelled “Oi, listen to the best man, and I mean that in a general sense”, and that had done the trick. He cleared his throat.

“Good evening to all, my name is Hercules Mulligan and I thought I might leave my speech at that because clearly, that’s impressive enough. For some reason, Lafayette here thought I am the best man. Which, if you’ve seen the groom naked, is one hell of a compliment. ( _Peggy nodded sagely. Washington shook his head. Lafayette downed his glass of wine._ ) Lafayette and I haven’t met long ago, actually. We met through Alexander here, whom I should have asked to write my speech, given his position, but I didn’t, and you get the raw version, for which I won’t apologize. I had problems defining my relationship with Lafayette in ways that wouldn’t make the President have me extradited. Peggy here told me, anyone who comes in that appartment can tell Lafayette is the wine mom and you are the doting father. I realize now, Mr President, this is not an appropriate comparison. But look at the kids and how they turned out ( _Alex and John tried to look away. Maybe because John’s hand was high enough on Alex thigh that any attention was unwanted_ ). All of this to say, Lafayette would make an excellent parent, provided George is there to make sure the wine is hidden safely, and that’s enough food for thought. If you’ll now all raise your glasses and champagne flutes. To the grooms !”

They all toasted. Washington and Lafayette never took their eyes off each other. If there was any way a baby could be conceived through eye-fucking, Lafayette was about to pop out triplets.

 

By the time the wedding cake was cut by the newlyweds, appropriately photographed by the official professional Angelica had picked (Alex hoped he’d left out the pretty obscene moment Washington had had Lafayette lick whipped cream from his finger. Everyone had laughed, but then again, not everyone was sat close enough to Lafayette to see him try to conceal his boner), everyone was drunk enough on fancy French wine and laughter. As the waiters approached to ask if there were any particular requests now that the food-wine matchwas not required anymore, the DJ, that had stuck to mellow instrumental musics while dinner, called the grooms to the dance floor for the first dance. Washington took Lafayette’s hand with a smile and they made their way between the tables to the dancefloor. He put his hand on Lafayette’s waist as a [violin ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b44-5M4e9nI)started. The music was slow and romantic, and Alex was not sure the two men were aware of the people looking at them and tearing up, just a little bit. After a few minutes, the song was over and they leant in for a kiss to the assembly’s claps. Another song started, but the kissing didn’t stop and actually seemed to deepen; Hercules took it upon himself to drag Peggy to the dancefloor, prompting other couples to do the same, shielding the presidential couple, swaying lightly on their feet, lost in each other’s taste.

Soon enough the music changed completely, and by the time John had forced Alex to get up and dance, Washington had left the dance floor (apparently, Barbra Streisand’s _My Man_ was the last one he could bear. When the opening notes to _Hips don’t Lie_ had started, he’d left Lafayette to his own devices, which hadn’t bothered the man in the slightest. Maria had taken Washington’s place. Her hips movements had Eliza burning hot for a few minutes). Peggy had truly established her rule over the dancefloor with Hercules on their rendition of _Apple Bottom Jeans_ , and Eliza had kicked Angelica’s ass to the wooden floor when _Bang Bang_ had started, and if Alex had never thought Angelica Schuyler rapping to Nicki’s verse was something he wanted, it was actually something he needed. You could tell Lafayette had been heavily involved in the playlist, using and abusing his groom privilege, forcing Hercules, John and Alex to join in his elaborate routine on _No Diggity_ ; thank god the DJ was competent and was switching occasionally to mellower songs where Lafayette would run to his husband to dance slowly against him, whether Washington was willing or not (which had led to a pretty incongruous scene where Lafayette was gently swaying with George, hugging him from behind, as the President was telling Vergennes about their upcoming honeymoon). John was now taking a giggling Peggy in his arms for a French slow song; Hercules shrugged and held his hand to Alex, who put his other hand on his shoulder with a snort.

“A great night for a wedding,” said Hercules, low in his ear.

Alex thought that he would burst into flames. “They look happy. I am not a wedding kind of man, but they make me reconsider.”

Hercules chuckled. “I’ll bet.” He twirled Alexander with a grin. “Tonight, then?”

Alexander understood the meaning instantly. “Yeah. We’ll be off in a moment. I haven’t… I didn’t really prepare.”

Hercules beamed at him. “I think those are the moments where John loves you the most, kid.”

 

Alex took advantage of everyone staring at Lafayette as he had ran back to the dancefloor when _Anaconda_ had started to take John’s hand after retrieving their jackets. “Is this the part where you bend me over the Oval Office’s desk for a good old-fashioned rimming, love?” joked John. They hadn’t drank much, but Alex felt very light-headed, and so did John apparently. They were not the first to leave; it was late. Alex led John through several offices, until they could make their way out, dodging the journalists still stationed before the main gate, wishing good night to the security officer there.

“It’s so warm out,” sighed John contentedly.

“Fancy a walk?” asked Alex.

John laughed. “Lead the way, lover boy.”

Alex squeezed his hand. John made small talk as they walked, not really caring where Alex was dragging him. Alex felt like he was going to implode. Wasn’t it great, that John was trusting him enough to follow him into the dark, without a care or a question asked, talking about the bedsheet he wanted to change, and how his mom had a plaid with blue birds on it, and he found it tacky back then but maybe he would like one now? And Alex knew that he would get John all the kitsch blankets he could ever ask for as long as he could snuggle with him under the plush fabric.

It will be a surprise to no one, and especially not to Alex, to find out they ended up where they started, in Constitution Gardens. John craned his neck to look up at the stars as they walked along the pond - Alex didn’t need to look that far up, the stars were in John’s eyes, the stars were in his own stomach, sucking the air around him in a black hole of anticipation and dread. He didn’t consider himself a particularly romantic person. John would later deny vividly, talking about fresh flowers on his nightstand every Sunday morning, about fries in the park after accompanying him to lunch with his father, about shared baths after morning sicknesses. Alex would tell John he was only doing it to get in his pants. Nobody would be fooled.

They could only hear the thrum of a bass from a distant group of teenagers that they couldn’t see nor hear, and that seemed to accompany Alex’s beating heart, and the gentle swish of a warm breeze that stopped him from suffocating as he shed his jacket as they approached a willow; and Alex could see the ghosts of John and him, sharing pizza and cheap wine, laughing at Jefferson’s ridiculous antics; he could see himself, bundled up in his knit scarf, trying to recreate John’s delicate fingers in the margins of his notebooks; and he could see, for real this time, John, touching the bark of the tree with a smile, lying on his back away from the branches, crowned by grass and wild flowers, and pointing out the constellations; and Alex was pretty sure no constellation was named “the Great Corn Flake, look I don’t make the rules baby girl it does look like a corn flake”, and there was no more doubt in Alex’s mind. If there ever was a ridiculous man he would want to spend his life with, it was this one.

“Look, John, could you sit up?”

John sat up, grinning at Alex as if he had been the one to hang the crescent moon, for his benefit only.

“I have something to say, and I need you to listen to the end, okay? Please,” begged Alex.

The smile fell from John’s lips. “Oh my god, are you breaking up with me? On Laf’s wedding day? This is worse than the Godfather. He will have you beheaded. I am not kidding, Alex.”

“I am not - the guillotine hasn’t been in use since ‘77, okay? Anyway, no - I’m not - how could you think ? Just, listen okay?” stammered Alex.

John relaxed marginally, smiling nevertheless - you could count on Alexander Hamilton to throw in a bit of trivia when his boyfriend was freaking out about a hypothetical break-up.

“I know it’s gonna sound - god, John, it’s going to look so stupid, especially today of all days, I didn’t want to steal Laf’s spotlight - but it was also the perfect end to the night. I am not a family man, John. I mean, how could I be? I haven’t had one since I was twelve. And even back then… family seemed like something that was too good to be true, too white-fence, too Full House, too fake and bright - and then you walked in, John Laurens, you walked in and suddenly the world was sharper and more focused because you shone on it so bright even the shadows looked like light. And you loved me the same way I loved you, you moved in with me, you accepted it all, the overattentive friends, the late nights, the fights and the _coquito_ for Christmas; you took it all in strides, you saw a mess and somehow you made sense out of it. I know family because you are, John, and I am not a family man, but I want you to make one out of me.”

And with this, he held the ring with shaking fingers. John looked paler in the moonlight. The eyes couldn’t be reflected in his eyes since his eyes looked at Alex; yet they shone with tears and he nodded his head yes, and the tears looked way more beautiful to Alex than Cassiopeia or the Great Corn Flake or whatever, and Alex smiled wider than the Milky Way, and he whispered “is that a yes?” and John shoved him and fell on him, breathing “yes” into his mouth before chasing his tongue with his, and Alex was happy the branches of the willow were hanging low as they scooted closer to the trunk for Alex’s first engaged blowjob, John’s new ring cold against his sensitive skin and still more perfect than anything he could ever have wished for.

* * *

From : Baguette Kisser

Where are you. You have switched to karaoke and Eliza’s doing Milkshake

 

From : Baguette Kisser

Come on I already have you lined up for Single Ladies with Hercules

 

To : Baguette Kisser

I am afraid this would be an inaccurate song by now, Laf.

* * *

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

Lafayette is frothing at the mouth.

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

He says you should have done it here he would have called the Governor back

 

From : Hunkules Mulligan

Still dibs on the flower girl gig.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I am tearing up.  
> Only the epilogue yet. You all know what it will be about.  
> Honestly, this story has helped me through so much, you can't even imagine. Thank you for all your kind messages. See you for chapter 28 !


	28. Chapter 28 - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex gets an internship at the White House. It's unpaid, it's a lot of work, but it's a foot in the door and he is not throwing away his shot.  
> Fortunately, John, from the coffee shop, is an expert at shots, espresso or otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, good afternoon, good evening !  
> I'll let you get to it. I will keep the thanks for the end.

_ A year later _

 

“Rise and shine,  _ petit lion _ !”

Alex threw a pillow at Lafayette’s head. He didn’t miss, judging by the “ _ oof _ ” that followed. He didn’t see why he had to be the one to put up with Lafayette. John was probably still sleeping, in their appartment, the sun shining in stripes through the blinds on his brown skin - it was unfair, okay. Fuck Lafayette and his traditions of “not seeing the groom”, he was packing and ditching Mount Vernon for the city. The man probably heard him, though, because he sat all his weight on Alexander’s thighs. George Washington appeared in the doorway, a smirk on his face and a cup of steaming coffee in hand, that he left on Alexander’s nightstand.

“Good morning, son. I see how it is, dragging my husband in your bed on your wedding day. I couldn’t even blamed you if I tried. Breakfast is almost ready.”

Lafayette jumped to his feet to follow Washington. “Ah, you say that,  _ mon amour _ , but will you still love me when I’m no longer young and pretty and flexible?”

“That depends. Do you have life insurance?” Lafayette’s laughter as the couple walked down the stairs was like a fresh breath of air. Alex never wanted to do without. He took the steaming coffee cup and leaned back against one of the pillows.

* * *

 

From : Curls <3

Hercules just rang the door until I woke up and opened. The wedding is in seven hours? Please send help

 

To : Curls <3

He did it on purpose

 

To : Curls <3

I gave him a set of keys

 

To : Curls <3 

Lafayette just woke me up

 

To : Curls <3

Good morning,  _ hermoso _ .

 

From : Curls <3 

Holy shit. We are getting married in six hours.

* * *

 

“You look great, Alex, stop fussing about,” Angelica groaned.

“No, he will look like shit unless he holds still,” complained Eliza, “for fuck’s sake, Alexander, I feel bad for your future kids if they are half as stubborn as you are.”

“If you’ll allow me,” said Maria, who had been watching the scene with great interest from a chair on the side. She got on her toes and pushed her lips to Alexander’s. A hint of tongue, a strong smell of hyacinth, and she was gone, leaving Alex’s cheeks as red as her lipstick.

“That ought to shut him up,” she commented as she sat back down.

It did. Eliza grinned at Maria with a thumbs-up, as Angelica just tutted, cleaning the traces of red on Alexander’s lips with her thumb. They heard the main door open, John’s voice going “honestly, Hercules, I don’t see why we had to sleep apart, I’m -” and Alex was sprinting to the door, with little regard to Eliza’s horrified “Bad luck ! It’s bad luck !” leaning on the railing with a thousand-watt smile at his fiancé, who had heard the commotion and was already on his way up anyway, and oh, had Alexander told him he loved him today? It didn’t matter because in three hours they were getting fucking married, and what a sight his husband-to-be was, all curls and gaping mouth and hard lines where his pants outlined his legs, and Alex outrageously took advantage of the fact that everyone was waiting to see his reaction to John and vice ersa to pull on John’s tie and run with him to the closest room, locking the door behind them. 

 

“I couldn’t wait, I couldn’t wait -” moaned Alexander in John’s ear. He could hear the thump of a fist on the door (or was it his own heart?) but he couldn’t find it in himself to give a fuck, not when John was biting at the pulse point right on the side of his jaw and fumbling with his belt, and he left out a loud gasp as John’s fist closed loosely around his cock, earning him a “eeew” behind the door and the sound of retreating footsteps. John laughed, burying his head into Alex’s shoulder. 

“Do you want to lead a comparative study, married sex vs engaged sex?” he asked Alex with a grin.

Alex took a pensive expression. “I don’t know, John. I am afraid last night alone wiped my memory of what engaged sex is like.”

“Well, baby girl, I know just the engaged man ready to remind you what it’s like,” said John with a wiggle of his eyebrows, sliding Alexander’s pants down his legs.

“Awesome, please call him up,” answered Alex, and he was rewarded with a hard bite on his thigh. The brief pain was quickly soothed by hot wet kisses, soon trailing up, a hand slowly stroking his erection. He shivered with a whine as he felt a tongue at his hole, getting him liberally wet, and then a finger nudged at him; he knew he would have to get lube a soon as possible, because while he was not statisfied with the one finger and he could definitely bear the burn of John’s cock in his ass without added lubrication, somehow he didn’t think limping down the aisle was the ideal wedding memory. He took a look around, holding in a snort that turned into a gasp with John’s second finger sliding in. They were in the master bedroom, and a picture of Lafayette and Washington was happily smiling at them from the nightstand. There had to be lube in the drawers. And of course there was - although Alex’s shaky hand also touched a few objects he’d rather not know how they were used.

Meanwhile, John’s mouth had moved to his cock - swallowing him whole, enveloping him in wet warmth and cool breaths, and Alex’s hand flew to grip at his hair, his other hand cupping John’s cheek and feeling the bulge as they hollowed out - and that was enough to bring him over the edge, spending hot and sticky into John’s mouth. John smiled around him, swallowing it all before giving his cock a little kiss and lifting Alex’s hips, letting Alex squeeze some lube in his hand and coating his own erection with the cold liquid before sliding, slow and deep, into Alex. (It was John who had suggested they get tested, a few months back. They saved a shit ton of condoms now.) 

They heard the clinking of keys, but paid no mind to it. They did hear Lafayette bemoan his silk sheets as he closed the door shut again.

  
Alexander’s photo album, although pretty full as it was, would soon get a whole new load of pictures to be added. So much, in fact, that John would offer him a second album. Pictures of Hercules throwing a handful of blossoms to the breeze that got caught into Peggy’s hair; John’s tears as Alex said “I do” and Alex’s blush when Maria asked if the kiss had helped;  the pictures of Peggy moving in with Hercules or actually sleeping on the couch while she had Hercules and Alex carry the box up the stairs; then, later on, pictures of Washington’s crying face as he held the adoption agreement Lafayette had shakily handed him from his position curled up on John and Alex’s couch; Angelica’s departure for London, Eliza in Maria’s arms as she kissed her sister goodbye, and her yell of surprise forever immortalized when Angelica had visited a year later with a slightly bulging stomach. On a whole page of the album, John had doodled little hearts around the article he had printed and stuck there where Jefferson described his struggle in his race to becoming Virginia’s Governor, bemoaning the fact that we couldn’t all have a printer daddy to help, to the journalists’ utter bewilderment. A few pages later, another picture, bent around the corner because John had fiddled with it so much, of his sister Martha’s wedding, where John and Alex had been invited. Henry hadn’t. He wasn’t family. And this album was all about family, as would Treasury Secretary Alexander Hamilton tell their son Philip when they would flip the pages together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, that wraps it up. It was mostly smut, to make sure the guys were happy. If you wonder, Eliza offered herself as surrogate mother.  
> You know I am going to get emotional. You know it.   
> "Relax, have a drink with me" is my first fanfiction. I feel so incredibly blessed by all your reactions and kudos and messages.  
> I wrote it during hard times, and it got me through. Ultimately, it was all about home and family where there is a lack thereof (and also about founding fathers getting it in bathroom stalls).  
> An astounding thank you to Elisa (@nexttoaarontveit on tumblr), who got me through thick and thin.  
> I met a lot of people writing this. Most notably my wife (the Lams-Pauline sandwich will live in infamy and I love you), Jessica my fellow trash, and real-life John Laurens Kai.  
> He won't read this, but thank you to my boyfriend, who didn't question me when I sobbed through the Bodyguard.  
> And most of all, thank you. Some of you I recognized the names of as they flooded my inbox, most I didn't, and you all made a difference to me.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! You can find me on tumblr @ iwillgladlyjointhefight. I am the trash of the thing and will gladly sin with you! Of course, kudos and comments are much appreciated !


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